


the inquisitor said fuck

by noble_phantasm



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Asian MGiT, Asian-American Character, Female Mage Lavellan - Freeform, Gen, Modern Character in Thedas, Modern Girl in Thedas, Varric Tethras Centric, i love him and you can pry my dwarf buddy from my cold dead hands, warning: actual asian-ness is mostly not there but if you squint youll always see it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2020-04-06 07:53:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19058413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noble_phantasm/pseuds/noble_phantasm
Summary: Varric Tethras isn't saying the Inquisitor is possessed by what might be the dumbest demon alive, but he is.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i have never finished a single dragon age game. all characterization will be bad, all dialogue will be forced, and i am unapologetic for posting this.
> 
> anyways i had a much cooler asian mgit story but then i found this in my docs so i decided i'd make an attempt to finish this before working on that. again, i've never finished a single da game and i really don't know what actually happens. please forgive my crimes

“Fuck,” the Inquisitor said, which is the first sign something’s awry. The Inquisitor never cusses. Lavellan was like a model Dalish who only cursed in Elvhen and made googly eyes at Chuckles when she thought he wasn’t looking. 

Lavellan stared at her hands, felt up her ears, and sat down on a rock in the middle of the Hinterlands.

“Fuuck,” she repeated, with extra emphasis, and suddenly Varric got the feeling she dropped her accent.

\---

Needless to say, Lavellan did a full heel-face-turn. And he had only known her for the, oh, month or so they had been stuck in the Hinterlands, but that month or so told him so much about her he probably didn’t even need to stick around for the rest of the story.

Except now Lavellan swore like a drunkard trying to make up new cusses for coin, acted in a very not-elvish way, and constantly pestered him about Hawke. Which he didn’t mind the first thirty times, but his cache of stories was limited and Lavellan had run it dry. Even more infuriating was how she seemed to know most of them, but still asked anyways.

“Inquisitor?” He shot an arrow through an apostate’s head as Lavellan casually scaled the nearby cliff to pick some elfroot. It was these moments that reminded him of Hawke, which only made him miss her just a tiny bit. He squashed the feeling down. “Inquisitor.”

“Hm?” She whirled around and jerkily whacked another apostate on the head with her staff, before hopping down to land flat-foot on the grass, looking smug for something poorly executed. 

“Oh, Varric. What’s up? Wanna talk about Hawke?”

“You know, Inquisitor,” he said for the umpeteenth time, as Solas calmly ignored them and Cassandra eyed him in a show of mock impassiveness, “there’s a limit to what I have for you. But if you bought a couple of drinks, maybe a round of Wicked Grace to jog some memories…”

“ ‘course, soon as we get back. Which might be in a year or so, but I’ll hold up my end of the bargain.” 

“Inquisitor,” Solas started, and Lavellan turned to face him, nodding sympathetically (and a tad too fast to be truly sympathetic) as she stooped down to pocket some iron. “I believe there’s an Elven artifact nearby.”

“Oh, cool beans. Let’s move out, squad.” The more she runs her mouth off, the more Varric’s convinced she hit her head running around the Hinterlands and caused some irreversible brain damage. Just a suggestion for her change in personality, especially since she seemed to have no interest in Chuckles anymore.

Which was weird. Varric eyed her back as she conversed with Solas about something dumb. He wasn’t paying attention, but everything out of her mouth sounded like the washed up, half-thought out stream of consciousness Hawke spewed when drunk.

She obviously had the hots for the elfy apostate, but after hitting her head while no one was looking, she seemed to almost dislike him. Not in an obvious way, but in a child’s sort of disdain. Which, again, was exactly what Hawke did when one of the gang offended her. 

“I don’t like wolves,” Lavellan said out of nowhere, sniffing indignantly. “Not only were they a pest in the Brecilian Forest, they’re a symbol of pride that elves, _us_ elves, do not favor.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Varric says, in the placating tone he used for children. “Where’d this come from? More importantly, you’ve been to the Brecilian Forest?”

“Huh? Well, um, yeah, of course. My, er, clan, liked traveling. The Lay—Lavelli—Lavellan clan. You know, Dalish people— _elves_. Haha. We camped there. Didn’t we?”

Pre-brain injury Lavellan spoke eloquently and smoothly. Post-brain injury Lavellan raised way too many red flags to ignore.

“How was the Brecilian Forest, then?” Lavellan coughed into her fist, her footsteps speeding up just a bit to stay ahead of the group. Probably stalling for time or trying to hide her face. 

“It was...very foresty. I say that because I’m used to forests. Er, lots of leaves, lots of dead bodies, do you want me to talk about bears instead? The bears around here are very fierce. Much more interesting than some forests.”

“Right…” Varric drawled, crossing his arms. “Well, Lavellan, it’s been nice knowing you so far, but I think you have some explaining to do.”

“About what?” She laughed nervously, backing up as Cassandra and Solas starting moving towards her, Varric in the lead. They caught each others’ eyes; yeah, fake-Lavellan’s bullshitting game had much to be desired. “No idea what you mean. Is this about the elf thing? I’ve got the ears, nothing out of place, oh my _god_ please stop walking you’re actually scaring me—”

“Who are you,” Cassandra began, voice heavy, “and what have you done to the Inquisitor?”

“Cassandra, oh Cassandra,” she stammered, raising her hands up, “very fast to interrogate. Of course you are. Well, I assure you I’m the Inquisitor, you can take my blood or something, see my ears? These are the elf ears a real Dalish has. And the Vaseline—”

“Vallaslin,” Solas corrected. Fake-Inquisitor deflated.

“Yes, the vasallin—”

“ _Vallaslin_.” Solas sighed. “I cannot believe we didn’t question her earlier.”

“Well, in our defense, she didn’t show any signs of possession besides being weird.” Varric eyed her, trying to see where she had hit her head. “We’ve been with her the entire time. There’s no logical reason this could've happened.”

“Fellas. Fellas! I assure you I’m the Inquisitor, just a little less...elfy. I’ve got the bits, my hand still glows, I just can’t pronounce Vasalin.”

“Vallaslin.”

“Yeah, that. Otherwise, I’m totally her. Really. I can tell you about how cool Hawke is. Don’t you want to hear me retell Varric’s Arishok story?”

“Nice try, but I’ve already told that too many times.”

“Okay! I see that won’t work.” Fake-Lavellan backed into a tree. “I suppose I’ll have to regale you with random facts until you back off. I’ll actually do it—Varric, you might’ve named your crossbow Bianca but Bianca’s actually—”

“Okay,” Varric started, cutting her off, “just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Solas had hair at some point! Wanna know what Solas means in Elvhen? It’s pr—”

“I don’t know what you want,” Solas began, also cutting her off, “but that won’t work.”

“No, no, I’m going to drop your backstories unless you admit I’m the real Inquisitor and we can finally get that breach sealed so I can lose my arm.”

“You’re going to _what_?”

“Haha...shit.” Fake-Lavellan turned right around and ran away, ducking behind a boulder to avoid Solas’s ice blast. When the three of them turned the corner to apprehend her, there was a line of smoldering fire and she was nowhere to be found.

They had sorely underestimated the Hinterlands. There actually were some places with trees and cover, enough to escape a mage, a warrior, and a rogue unscathed.

“Well,” Varric finally said, to break the silence. “Not really a textbook demon possession, but I think we can all agree that wasn’t Lavellan.”

“So what the hell happened?” Cassandra demanded, sounding angrier by the minute. “Whatever took the Inquisitor’s place bolted, and now we’ve lost whatever can help us seal the breach!”

Varric thought about it for a minute. Fake-Lavellan might’ve basically been lying to them for however long she was acting, but she had seemed sincere enough. Hell, she had even been sealing fade rifts and leading them faithfully. Only after being exposed did she finally run off, and only because she had felt threatened.

“I think,” Varric slowly said, “we should get her side of the story. She seemed willing to cooperate before we made a move, at least.”

“Are you joking? We know she’s not the Inquisitor, so how can we trust her?”

“I didn’t sense anything strange,” Solas finally added, though he paused. “When she was speaking of Bianca, did she…”

“And the whole wolf thing with you? Yeah, sore topic.”

The three of them pondered that for a moment.

“She doesn’t give me the same vibe Anders did,” Varric said at last. “I’m not saying I trust her, but let’s hunt her down before Curly, Ruffles, and Nightingale have our heads.”

“Yes...the problem remains, though. Where would she have run off to?” Cassandra seemed oddly composed, but Varric spied the deathly tight grip she had on her sword. Whoever fake-Lavellan was, they weren’t getting out of this without a good beating. Just his professional opinion as a former interrogee.

“I believe,” Varric started, the gears in his mind turning, “I have the faintest idea.”

When he didn’t say anything, Cassandra edged forward a bit impatiently.

“Well? Out with it.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: i don't have a schedule. i wrote the first chapter + the beginning of this waaay before i picked it back up, so expect a shift in quality. long term works are like my big weakness, esp bc i never planned past chapter two for this. please bear with me as i slowly warp what continuity there is (tags are suspect to changing as i change my mind)
> 
> i wasn't sure if i should capitalize blood lotus or not cause i didn't do it for elfroot but it _looks_ bad without capitalizing so

They found Lavellan at the edge of Lake Calenhad, picking Blood Lotuses to shove in her bag.

“How did you know?” Cassandra hissed, and Varric gave her a smug grin.

“She can’t resist elfroot on mountains. Do you think she can pass up all the Blood Lotuses here?”

“We should get back to the matter at hand,” Solas quietly said back. “Before she gets away.”

Varric nodded very seriously. “Fake-Lavallen,” he began, and she jumped, turned to face him, and quickly stuffed the handful of Blood Lotuses she had just picked into her mouth, looking like a guilty cat with a chicken.

“Varric Tethras,” she mumbled out of a mouthful of Blood Lotuses. “Just doing my, er, Inquisitor duties. Nice seeing you, and you, Solas, you too, Cassandra—bye!”

But this time the three of them were prepared, and when she turned to bolt again, they surrounded her, leaving her with only the lake to back into. Fake-Lavellan, obviously intent on evading capture, dove right into the lake, kicking her way to the middle.

Varric crouched at the edge of the water. “Now we wait.”

She paused, staring intently at him. He could already form her monologue in his mind: _what are you playing at, you incredibly handsome dwarf?_ Then, from around him marched a two dozen Inquisition soldiers, surrounding all sides of the lake. 

“Motherfucker,” she said again, and really, Varric was appalled he didn’t confront her sooner. No Dalish ever cursed as plainly as she did, and during the few times he had the pleasure of meeting Daisy’s clan, none of them spoke like she did. “Varric, you bastard! You cuck! No girlfriend manlet!” Lavellan was not very tall, however, so whatever possessed her had to jump up and down to get her mouth above water.

“Go ahead,” he offered, mouth quirking up. “Vent your anger. We’ll be here for a while.”

Though, as predicted, she gave up in a couple of minutes, growing too tired to keep jumping up and down. Glumly, she trudged towards him, not resisting when a few lackeys lifted her up by her arms and escorted her over to Varric, Cassandra, and Solas.

“Fo-for the reco-cord,” she began, shivering until Solas lit a fire in front of her, and almost immediately her shaking slowed to a stop. “Thanks, my guy. But for the record, Varric, you’re a slimy coward. By the way, since we’re more open now, do you like Hawke?”

“Who doesn’t?” She was being a sore loser, no doubt, unwilling to reveal which demon she was. Fair enough; he could play along for a while. Maybe she was a pride demon.

“I mean romantically, but that works.” A soldier hesitantly handed her a blanket, and she grinned up at him. “Oh, thanks. I’ll give you a raise.”

“You won’t be giving any raises. Lavellan will.” Varric leaned forward, eyes glinting. “So I suggest you bring her back and maybe we’ll let you off a little easier.”

“You’re not answering my question. You _like_ like Hawke, don’t you? I knew it. I so knew it.”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t disagree either. It’s okay: if given the chance, I would’ve totally friendmanced you.”

“Friendmanced?”

Fake-Lavellan rolled her eyes. “Yeah, friendmance. Friend romance. Fenris is great and all, but mage players can only really rivalmance him ‘cause otherwise it feels inorganic.”

Some sort of demon language, maybe? He didn’t get half of that. But he hadn’t mentioned Fenris at all during their trip to the Hinterlands, so either the demon could see memories or knew what had transpired in Kirkwall.

Of course, he wouldn’t be able to get any answers now, so he only kept that in mind.

“Let’s start simple,” he began, ignoring her earlier onslaught of words. “When did you possess Lavellan?”

“I didn’t! And if I did, not intentionally.”

“What did you do, then?” Fake-Lavellan mumbled something into her hand, not looking up. “Louder.”

“...I accidentally burned down my apartment, and while I was finally dragging my Playstation out I tripped and hit my head.”

“Apartment? Playstation?” 

She coughed. “I burned down my house, and had to evacuate...my valuables. Then I woke up as an _elf_.”

“So..." Burned down her house, evacuated her valuables, then just coincidentally happened to wake up as the sort-of head of the Inquisition. He didn't buy it. "Nice story. What kind of demon were you? A spirit of aggravation?”

Solas frowned. “I will not have you sully the name of spirits with calling _her_ one.” Varric raised his hands, pantomiming backing off just as Fake-Lavallen scowled and stuck her tongue out at Solas.

“Human, obviously. I’m not a demon, obviously not an elf, could never be a dwarf, and I’m just not Qunari material.” She folded her arms and glared, though in her wet rat sort of fashion she just looked mildly disgruntled. 

“Humans don’t possess other humans,” Cassandra, ever the voice of reason, said.

“Well, I did. And I don’t know how to undo this, so we’re going to have to make do. Right?”

“Not right,” Varric drawled, and decided that even with his position as the joking, never-serious dwarf companion he could actually get serious for once. “The Inquisition isn’t a playground. Even if you’re innocent in the scheme of things, there’s still a breach in the sky to be fixed.”

“Oh, no biggie,” she said, waving off all his concerns. Then she wiped them off on his sleeve, leaving a trail of lake water. “See this glowy hand? That’s what we need most. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”

“You are not suited to lead the Inquisition,” Cassandra said, stabbing her sword into the dirt for further emphasis. Fake-Lavellan only flinched a little. “We need more than just a hand. We need a leader, and you are simply a child.”

“I’m _twenty-one_. I can legally drink.”

Varric coughed into a fist. “By our standards, you’re practically an infant.”

Fake-Lavellan coughed into her fist. “Okay, _Solas_.”

Solas narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re implying, but—”

“I mean, you’re bald, so you’ve got to be ancient. Aren’t I right?” Of course, Varric, master of lies, could see a hint of too much innocence in her voice. But he decided it wasn’t worth it to join her side, even if she had some sort of point about their mysterious apostate tag-along. Whatever weird elfy youth potion Solas consumed was his business alone.

“That is not the point—I think we should stay on topic.”

Fake-Lavellan offered a sneer at his words. “Which is that, face it, you can’t kill me. I didn’t possess Lavellan, I have the mark in order, and I’m an adult by the law which means there’s nothing legally wrong with letting me lead the Inquisition.”

“Nothing _legally_ wrong,” Cassandra repeated, and scoffed. “Maker, you’re going to ruin us in just a few days if left alone.”

“I won’t! Promise. I want to keep my head on my shoulders and you guys want to keep the Inquisition going.”

Varric decided it was time to step in and actually direct the conversation in a productive direction. “If we were to let you lead—”

“There is no if, Varric, we simply cannot let this demon traipse Haven—”

“—we need to be able to trust you. Cassandra, just trust me on this.”

Fake-Lavellan sniffed. “Okay. What do you want to know?”

Varric spread his arms out, just for the dramatic flair. “Everything. Your name, where you’re from, any evidence you were a human and not a demon.”

“Oh, that’s hard,” she said, and Cassandra and Solas turned to glare at him. She was already destroying their trust in him. “I’m just your average girl from, er, the east. Very far away. Outside of Thedas.”

“I see. And you still speak Common perfectly fine?”

“Well, yeah, you see, according to, uh, American legend—”

“American? Is that where you’re from?”

She rapidly nodded. “Yes, I’m from America. You wouldn’t know it. I’m actually part Chinese, but—no, no, forget that, in my culture we’re just—American. Yeah.”

“Okay. America’s a country outside of Thedas. And according to this ‘American legend’...?”

“Yeah. Yes. And, uh, according to our legend, some outsider came and taught us this language. We’ve all but forgotten our original roots, forced to learn a caricature of what once was…” Fake-Lavellan wiped a tear from her eye. “You can’t understand some parts of what I say because it has roots in our mother tongue, English...real big dick energy of my ancestors.”

“No, I understand what you're saying. I know big, dick, and energy separately.”

Lavellan nodded, a little too condescending for someone in her position. “We keep our expressions from our forgotten tongue, just crudely translated. Common is just, uh...free real estate. Wig.”

Solas tapped his fingers along the side of his staff. “You’re saying that you’re an American, and your culture has been long forgotten because of just one person from Thedas?”

She froze for a second, but rapidly began speaking. “Well, you, you see, that guy was a, how do you say it, mage. A mage. Now, none of us Americans had mages, you see, so obviously we got our asses whooped pretty bad. Yeah, yeah, that’s it. So it was, uh, adopt the Thedas guy’s stuff or die.”

“Who was the guy from Thedas you speak of? What can you tell us about him?” Cassandra leaned in close, eyes steely. “I will ask Josephine to trace his lineage back.”

“That’s the thing. We’re not really sure ourselves. He was male, according to legend, and Andrastian. But not all of us picked that up, y’know, ‘cause most of us were Christian. Me, I’m not a theist. Apparently Thedas guy didn’t care that much about religion, he was more of a...language guy. Hated he couldn’t speak to us, so he made us learn Common instead of the other way around.”

“What was he? Ferelden? Orelesian? Free Marcher? _Tevene_?” 

Fake-Lavallen raised her hands up, scooting back to try to get a little more space between her and Cassandra. “Homie, I don’t know what those are.”

She exhaled through her nose. “I am completely appalled we didn’t notice any sooner.”

“I mean, I’d make a great spy. Not, not that I am one. I was just...a scholar back home, nothing suspicious, trust me. America’s a sciencey place. We don’t really dabble in...magic, or whatever you have here.”

“Is that so? Would you care to impart some wisdom on us, then?” Solas was just being stuck up, but Fake-Lavellan puffed out her chest anyways, looking confident.

“I passed AP Bio and only broke down in the bathroom twice.” She patted her chest with pride, nodding to herself. “Okay, so, did you know plants do something called photosynthesis?”

Cassandra made a disgusted face. “What sort of name is that?”

Fake-Lavellan visibly grew more excited. “So, the way plants survive is by using sunlight to make sugars. I don’t remember the formula, but it’s sunlight, which is taken up by chlorophylls, and water, which is taken up by the plant’s roots. Those become sugar. I forgot how.”

“I don’t know, Fake-Lavellan, that sounds like you’re just pulling something out of your ass.”

She huffed, puffing her cheeks out. “I’m not! I just never said I was a good scholar. Of course, I was never fit enough to be a fighter, so my parents said it was be a scholar or be a farmer. I don’t like farming.”

“Of course you don’t.”

“I don’t know why you’re looking at me like that. I haven’t told a single lie about America, you know. I’m a proud non-Thedas person.” Varric nodded at her, giving her his most patient side smile. He could deal with this. Just another drink, a good night’s sleep, and it’d be like Solas and Cassandra’s glares weren’t poking into his side.

“I know, Fake-Lavellan. We should just...head back to Haven.”

“Okay, fair enough. You can’t kill me, though, I’ve got the anchor. And we’re still in the Hinterlands!”

“Yes, I know. Come on, let’s get walking.” Fake-Lavellan nodded, before pausing. 

“Can I get the rest of the Blood Lotuses?”

“Sure. We can wait.” He ignored his companions shaking their heads in his peripheral vision. She dropped the blanket from her shoulders and scurried over to the first patch of Blood Lotuses she saw, cutting off the heads with a knife pulled from her bag. 

He heard her next words, muttered to herself. “I’m so good at this lore shit, BioWare should hire me as a full time writer.”

Varric turned around. No one else heard, so he stared at her even closer, but she only hummed a song he didn’t know while she hacked at the Blood Lotuses.


	3. meeting the in-laws

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was abroad for like the past week and a lil over, so no time to update. good news, next chapter is mostly written. bad news, the writing is pretty bad. so is this actually no one get their hopes up
> 
> but actual chapter titles now! lmao is this gonna b a train wreck? yes. will i love it anyways? double yes
> 
> (if anyone actually reads authors notes please help me out if your protagonist is of asian descent/poc but it's not like super in your face would one still tag it with all those tags about ethnicity? thanks)
> 
> edit: first six commenters who may have seen my alternate ao3 account, let's pretend that never happened?

Three advisors and three companions held an urgent meeting as soon as Fake-Lavellan and her gang returned from the Hinterlands. They shut Lavellan in her room with the toughest person they could find who wasn’t busy, and marched to the War Room.

“We need to find a way to get the demon out of her,” Cullen said, placing his hands on the table. “I will not endanger the Inquisition with—”

“I don’t think she poses as much of a threat as you make it seem,” Leiliana quickly countered. “Have you seen her? No shred of self-preservation. You _saw_ her eat that mushroom off the ground.”

“She’s a demon. Don’t you think she knows it’s not poisonous?”

“I’ve seen her climb trees and fall out right after, just for fun,” Solas said. “I was the one who had to heal her after. She lies like an infant, and has the intelligence of one.”

Varric faked a wince. “Ouch. Though, I agree. She doesn’t seem that smart, and I don’t think she’s a demon. There have been no signs of possession, and trust me, I’ve seen possessed mages. She just acts like her body’s been mixed up.”

“We have...tested her too,” Cassandra admitted. “Her story always stays the same. She cooperates, at the very least, and listens almost all the time.”

“Almost all the time?” Josephine paused in her scribbling. “When does she not?”

Cassandra sighed for a moment, and Solas gave her a somewhat sympathetic glance. “She behaves like a child. Now that she doesn’t have to pretend to be Lavellan, she chases after anything shiny. She only ever shows an interest in picking herbs and trying to climb cliffs.”

“And this could all be some elaborate ploy just to gain our trust. Am I the only one who’s taking a potential threat seriously?”

“Or you could be blowing it out of proportion. Our goal is to run the Inquisition, and not only has this...new person been compliant, she’s also given no evidence of being a demon.”

“But you can’t prove her identity at all! She might be a spy good with acting, or—”

There was a knock at the door, and it rebrevated through the room. Leiliana and Cullen exchanged a glance, and Cassandra opened the door. Eileen stepped in, wearing the scariest fake smile Varric had ever had the pleasure of witnessing.

“Excuse me,” she began, nostrils flaring, “have you seen the Inquisitor anywhere?”

“I thought you received explicit orders to not enter the War Room—”

“And I received even more explicit orders to keep track of the Inquisitor, Messere. Now, is she in here or not?”

She was evidently not, because her voice sounded from outside of the War Room. “Oh my god, Eileen, have you smelled this shit yet?”

Fake-Lavellan came barreling into the room, tossing a small pouch at her caretaker. Eileen caught it with a sigh, and brought it to her nose. “It’s lavender, Messere.”

“I know, isn’t it great? I got it from that cool elf lady who said Josephine got a few shipments—oh, hi, Josephine, are you guys talking about me?—and it’s probably the best thing I’ve smelled since I got here.” Fake-Lavellan took a couple of deep breaths,and calmly surveyed the room. “I’m guessing it’s everyone against Cullen ‘cause he looks pissed.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Eileen said, without pause. “Please never ask me to watch her again.”

“Honey, wait, it was my fault! Please, I’m a new man now—” Eileen slammed the door shut and Fake-Lavellan sighed, dramatically resting a cheek against her palm. “Oh, the woes of love.”

“You sure you don’t want to quit the Inquisition to be an actress?” Varric asked. Perfect time to hit two birds (her possible dramatic flair and her possible spy status) with one stone (his innocent enough question). Fake-Lavellan waved him off, laughing lightly. She ignored the stares of everyone else quite well in the meantime.

“I’m bad at lying when I get serious. I’d make a terrible spy.” She tilted her head to offer a smile at her audience, and Varric thought it was a pretty good lie she told, about being a bad fibber when it came right down to it. He could see the hints of a threat in her next words, disguised in proper politeness. “Not that you’d believe me, but it can’t hurt to assert my position.”

“Surely you understand,” Cullen started, “that we must be cautious when so much is at stake.”

“Oh, I know,” she loftily replied. “And I’m telling you that if you want to keep things in order, you gotta trust me when I say I want to fix up this mess too. Have a little faith.”

She tossed her satchel of lavender and bounced it from hand to hand, tapping her foot on the ground. Less nerves, Varric noted, and more restlessness. Fake-Lavellan was an energetic person, and twirled her staff and poked it into everything, not knowing how to properly wield it.

“...then what of the original Lavellan? Is she gone now?”

“I’m not sure. I was home, then I was here. There’s no hint of anything else in my mind. Why, did you like her?”

“I ask out of concern for someone who I spoke to just a month ago. So you would consider her completely gone?”

“Well, yeah. She might be back later. If you don’t want any scandals I can still pretend to be her, though I’m not exactly Dalish material now.” Cullen shook his head, and slammed his hands down on the table.

“So you’re going to pretend someone isn’t effectively dead now? The more you run your mouth, the more I see you’re practically a demon. You don’t care for anything, do you?”

Fake-Lavellan stifled a mock gasp. “Goodness, Blondie—” Varric stiffened up and so did she. She started again. “I mean, you’re quite defensive. It’s been a really long time, and it’s hard to find feelings that aren’t skin deep for someone I never knew. If it’s any consolation, I’m sure she would’ve been touched.”

“Perhaps we should move onto a different topic,” Leiliana said, breaking up the tension between Cullen and Fake-Lavellan. “I am not opposed to keeping you in your current position, but it is a given I keep surveillance just to be sure.”

“No problem.” Fake-Lavellan made a gesture, her thumb and index fingers curled into a circle with her remaining three fingers making individual half circles. When she saw the confusion on Leiliana’s face, she coughed into a fist and nodded curtly, as if trying to imitate someone serious.

“We should make sure word of this doesn’t get out. While it may be false that you’re a demon—”

“—I’m not—”

“—I’m sure many others wouldn’t believe so. We’d best be careful.”

Cassandra nodded. “We should have you train with Solas. I’ve noticed you never use magic consciously. It would be wise to have you relearn now.”

Cullen shook his head. “Are we just going to forget that Lavellan’s gone?”

“We have no choice,” Cassandra said. “If it is any consolation, none of us are happy about it.”

“It’s alright, Curly,” Varric added, hoping to ease the knot between his brows. “None of us are sure how this happened, so Lavender here might just be a temporary guest.”

She whirled around to meet his eyes with an intense stare. “You gave me a nickname?”

“Well, we can’t call you Fake-Lavellan, but calling you Lavellan feels wrong.”

“I see…” She nodded, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. “Lavender because I went batshit over it, and because it’s similar sounding...not bad, Varric, you really outdid yourself.”

“Somehow, praise from you gives the opposite effect.”

Lavender gasped and slapped his shoulder. It didn’t even sting. “Take it back, for Lavellan’s sake. I’m sure she’ll be back for revenge.”

“Why don’t you regale me with stories of how she’d take revenge on me? C’mon, the bar’s this way. I’ll buy you some milk.” Varric ushered Lavender and her complaints out, winking at the rest of the people in the room. _We’ll discuss more later_ , he mouthed, and returned back to Lavender’s side, who had started a tangent about what foods she wanted to eat.

“There’s rice here, right? If I don’t eat rice once every two days I lose my shit.”

“I think we can ask Josephine about that.”

Lavender nodded. “Yeah, I bet she can conjure up anything.” She kicked a pebble on the road, and absentmindedly rubbed her arm.

“Cold?”

“Not really. Varric?”

“Yeah?”

“What do lavenders mean? You do have flower meanings here, don’t you?”

He chuckled, just to fill in the silence. “We do. Lavenders mean loyalty.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.” 

“Huh.” Lavender turned around to peer down into his eyes. Varric stared back at her, and she grinned again, eyes half closed. “I believe you.”

This was one of her clearer lies, and before he could think any better of it he spoke. “You don’t.” His companion’s eyes widened, but she blinked and recovered just as soon.

“You’re right, I don’t believe you.” Her hand dropped from her arm, and her eyes met his without pretense. “What do lavenders mean?”

He supposed a lie now wouldn’t slip past her notice. “They do mean loyalty, but there’s a second meaning. Distrust.”

She watched him for a moment longer, before relaxing with a sigh. “Oh, that’s not so bad. I expected worse.” She turned her back to him, jumping down the stairs two steps at a time, spinning around to meet his eyes once she reached the bottom. “Let’s get along from now on. I don’t care if you don’t trust me, but Lavellan’s gone, so we’ll have to play house in her stead.”

Her earlier grin returned to her face, and Varric slowly stepped down after her.

He’d have to be a lot more than careful. But he wouldn’t quite report this to the others yet—he didn’t find her threatening yet, and that obviously meant something, with his senses honed dagger-sharp by simply hanging around Hawke too often. If anything, he only thought it was remarkably similar how quick she and Hawke switched attitudes.


	4. riding the iron bull (gone wrong) (gone platonic) not clickbait!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> school is sooo messed up i'm gonna go crazy
> 
> so i found this chapter all finished up in my drafts from like two months ago isn't that neat?? two month ago me was so good at this. any later chapters after this one will have to come after homework because i'm a dedicated student.
> 
> i'm also a failure of an east asian so if someone wants to tell me what east asian things there are to do in thedas besides eat european rice and complain i'm all ears!

“—and it’s not that I hate rain, but without an umbrella it’s not aesthetic but miserable,” Lavender was saying. “Do umbrellas exist for you guys?”

“Umbrellas?” Varric asked, which was enough of an answer for her.

“No wonder you guys look so miserable. See, where I lived we’d get these”—she made a vague gesture, spreading her hands out across her head, accidentally flicking a couple droplets Cassandra’s way—“contraptions that had this metal brace and a tarp over the top, to block rain. You guys haven’t done that?”

“We have not,” Cassandra briskly said. She lifted her shield to cover her head for a moment. “You could ask someone back at Haven to try to make you one. Regardless, I would suggest you put up with the rain until we get to the meeting spot.”

Lavender huffed. “I’m so tired, though. I wanna sit down, but everywhere’s wet!”

“Then don’t complain if none of us can do anything about it.” Even Varric thought the tone edged onto actually harsh, albeit only a little, and not like her usual reprimands. Lavender quickly fell into an awkward silence, and Varric finally realized just how much her talking filled up the empty space. He didn’t dare say anything, lest he incur Cassandra’s wrath along with the poor Inquisitor.

It took a while, but Lavender eventually found her voice again. “Cassandra?”

“Yes?”

“Are you mad at me?” 

Cassandra blinked emotively, pausing in her surveying of the area. “Did I give you that impression?” 

“Well...yes. Are you mad?”

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose with her free hand. “I am...not. Just tired of walking through the rain.” Lavender perked up, footsteps bouncing again. 

“Well, once we get back to Haven I’ll ask Dag—the blacksmith to make an umbrella. How about that?”

Varric didn’t overlook whatever she was about to say before switching to the blacksmith. “What were you saying?”

Lavender gave him a funny look, like he was the one out of his mind. “Umbrellas?”

“No, before you said the blacksmith, you said something else. What were you going to say?”

She scratched her head, which she never did, which meant she was lying. Not that he could present that as proof to her, not when she’d brush it off like she did with everything. “I don’t know, Varric,” she said, with almost perfect honesty. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Varric lamented the lack of a recording tool of sorts. “No, forget it. It’s nothing.”

“Well, if you say so. The mercenary group is close to here, right?” Lavender shielded her eyes from the rain, looking around with unrealistic enthusiasm. “Well, I can’t see them! Guess this means I oughta revoke that no climbing trees rule to really get a good look, right?”

“There will be no climbing trees, especially not in this weather.” Cassandra slammed her shield. Lavender quickly removed her hand from the nearest tree trunk. “I will not have you break your arm again and complain for the entire hour Solas takes to heal you.”

“If you’re making complaints about my healing speed, I would find it prudent to remind you that my specialty is not healing.” Solas held his staff just a bit tighter. “If you would prefer I not heal at all, that is fine.”

“No, no,” Varric quickly said, trying to make amends. “We need your healing, Chuckles, or Lavender would be dead already.” The perpetrator in question nodded vigorously. 

“Remember that time I went running into that river in the Hinterlands and I didn’t realize there was a fade rift and a waterfall and I hit my head falling from the waterfall? And then you had to heal me while trying to fight off the fade demon things?” 

“I do. I would like to never remember that again.”

“Well I think that was very cash money of you.” She patted his arm, before her expression turned desperate. “Please don’t stop healing me. What if I accidentally cut off my leg?”

“I doubt that would happen,” Solas said, but Varric read his expression just fine. No, it’ll definitely happen. “In any case, I won’t stop. Though you are...severely unfit to be leader of the Inquisition, you still have your place as its figurehead. I won’t leave you grievously injured if I can help it.”

“Oh shit, thank you. Don’t look at me, I’ve never heard anything that nice before, I’m just going to go blush.” Sure enough, under the frigid rain and in the misty weather, she blushed a healthy pink before running off, much to the chagrin of Cassandra.

“Hold on!” The rest of her group began running after her, only to stop when she paused at the edge of a cliff. She turned around and pointed excitedly at the beach down below.

“Look, look, I see a bunch of people, and—” The sound of a scuffle broke out, and Lavender whirled around, squinting at the sight. “Oh. Oh no.”

“Yeah, we should probably get down there and help.”

“Good idea. Very good idea.” Lavender broke into a sprint, running right behind Cassandra. “Okay, I learned a little from Solas, let’s go!”

As they did for every fight, Solas and Varric took up positions around her as she cast a barrier, and wheezed from the effort she spent for that tiny little spell. Eventually, she just took to smacking people over the head with the mace-staff hybrid she requested, which worked a lot better than her trying to cast spells. When the fight was over, she went running right for the Qunari, stopping to stare up at him in awe. Before he could speak a word, she quickly interjected.

“Can I sit on your shoulders? It’s very important for deciding if I’ll hire you or not.”

He gave her a...chuckle? Friendly sneer? Whatever expression people made at a tiny Dalish elf who asked to be carried. 

“Will it make you want to hire us?”

“ _Yes_.” The Qunari looked back at his companions, who nodded at him. He shrugged, picked up her up, and placed her on his shoulders. She positively beamed and made a smug face at Varric, who was now a whole lot shorter.

Varric ended up discussing prices and the whole Ben-Hassrath thing while Lavender looked around with obvious glee, only contributing to the conversation once in a while.

“We should hire him,” she said once Iron Bull was done talking.

“You weren’t listening to what he was saying.”

“No, but we should hire him.” She sniffed. “I _am_ the Inquisitor, isn’t that right? I’m Shrekesia Lavellan, mage extraordinaire, Herald of Andraste to some.”

Varric held back a sigh. “Yes, you’re all of those things.”

“So, I think we should hire the Iron Bull and his merry crew. Isn’t that right, Bull?”

“Sure thing, Boss.” Lavender loosened her grip on Bull’s horns, clapping them over her mouth with exaggerated glee.

“You hear that, Varric? He called me Boss, this is what companions should be like, polite and—” Sometime in her highly exaggerated speech she had given into her expressive nature of always making grand gestures for emphasis. And seeing as she was perched on someone’s shoulders this time, she slipped, much to the shock of everyone.

The last thing she said was “oops” before her body hit the rocks with a sickening crunch, and it was a miracle she didn’t pass out. A miracle, and the fact that Bull’s height wasn’t lethal. She stood back up, and dug out an elfroot potion with her left hand, drinking down the entire thing before her right arm started moving again. She flexed it, and Varric could read her expression too perfectly: _my bones didn't set the wrong way!_

“Don’t worry,” she said nonchalantly to her audience, curling her hand into a fist, leaving only her thumb upright. “I do that a lot. Varric, Cassandra, and Solas know.”

“Yes,” Varric dryly said, having gotten back his voice, “she does.”

“So,” Bull said, and then it was like Lavender’s fall from grace never happened. “What kind of name is Shrekesia? It doesn’t sound like the Dalish names I’ve heard.”

“I, well, my parents, my Dalish parents, you see…wanted to name me after a childhood friend of theirs. Shrek. Shrek was quite an eccentric, and no one actually knew his real name. But Shrek was a good man, and they thought his name was a little too harsh sounding, so they added a little something to it. I treasure this name greatly, don’t you think it’s great? Shrekesia. Shrek—” She snorted into her hand, but quickly regained her composure. “Alas, I have not seen my parents nor Shrek since. It pains me greatly.”

“Well, I hope you see them soon.”

“Me too, Iron Bull.” Lavender made a face like she was about to laugh, but quickly sucked in a breath and held a straight face. “Iron Bull. That’s a lot more striking than Shrekesia.”

“You think? I think it’s a good moniker. People remember it.”

Lavender nodded along. “That they do. Anyways, it was fun seeing you, Bull. Meet you at Haven?”

“Yeah, see you at Haven.” He started issuing commands to his team as Lavender strolled away, shaking her right arm out. Varric quickly caught up to her, and she turned to face him, her normal smile on her face.

“What’s up, buddy?”

He thought about how he’d approach the topic, but decided it was best to just be straightforward. She probably wouldn’t understand any other way. “That whole story about Shrek, and your parents naming you...how did you know?”

“Oh, I made that up. I already knew Lavellan’s name was Shrekesia, though I forgot how. Probably mentioned in passing.” Varric could only hope Iron Bull wouldn’t do any digging and expose her lie.

There was something else, too. “What about yours?”

“Huh?”

“Your name. Your real name, you had one, right?”

“Huh? Well, yeah, why are you asking?” Lavender stopped again, and Varric could hear the footsteps of Cassandra and Solas a bit behind them, respectful enough to let him have a private conversation.

“Just curious.” Even if she wasn’t around here, any information he could dig up might be useful in the future. Lavender turned her head to eye him, but faced forward again, and continued her hike.

“It’s nothing special. Not like Shrekesia.”

“But you had one. Mind telling me what it was?” Lavender took a deep breath, and Varric anticipated a name, maybe something foreign sounding, but instead—

“Sorry, but that’s for a lover to know. And ‘cause the only boys I like are pretty ones, I’m afraid no one here gets a chance.”

“You’re assuming any guy here would date you,” he said, and pondered if he could drag Sebastian over to try to pry any information out of her. 

“Why wouldn’t they? I’ve got a golden personality, I have my multiplication table memorized up to the elevens…” She stared at her two fingers, before pulling out a third. “I can climb trees really well?”

Varric pat her shoulder once, twice, without lingering. “I’m sure there’s someone out there for you, Lavender.”

She pat him back. “They’d better be taller than you.”

Another point for Sebastian. “What do you think about princes?”

She wrinkled her nose. “That's what you think of me? A gold digger?”

“Now, now, I wasn't trying to imply that, Inquisitor—”

“You're calling me Inquisitor. You _so_ meant that. Take it back! My honor, Varric!”

“I'm so sorry,” he drawled, immediately realizing that if he were the stubborn one, they'd be doing this for at least two hours. “Anyways, I only meant that I know a prince, who's a pretty boy, and—” 

“You. You just wanted my secrets. My real name and tragic backstory. How could you?” The betrayed expression on her face, however, looked more constipated than backstabbed. An unfortunately weak act on her part. 

“Hey, Lavender, if it's any consolation, every good hero—” 

“—Hawke, you mean.” 

“—has a tragic story. Hawke is just a good hero, in that case. Think of how compelling your tale would be.” 

Lavender stopped, and for a moment the ever-present idiot’s twinkle in her eye faded into something more bitter. More like a real person’s real set of emotions. “Varric,” she said. 

“What is it?” 

“Don't ever write a story about me. Your story about the Inquisition should be about Shrekesia Lavellan, not some American nobody who everyone thinks is a demon.” 

So it was bothering her. “C’mon, Lavender, not everyone thinks that.” 

“Enough do.” She tapped her staff absentmindedly, before perking up, and then it was like before never happened. “Say, Varric, anything important happen recently?” 

“What? Not that I've heard of, but you've gotta be more specific.” 

“I mean,” Lavender said, absentmindedly turning around to wave at Cassandra and Solas wandering over in the distance, “I can totally see those crows you've been sending to Leiliana. Anything exciting, like, just hypothetically speaking, an alliance? With important groups?” 

Awfully specific. “You wouldn't happen to be be thinking of anyone, would you?” Varric drawled. “Are you going to tell me you can see the future or something?” 

Lavender laughed, a harsh bark that quickly cracked. “Whatever could you mean, dearest Varric? I was just thinking, as all good Inquisitors ought to, that at some point the Inquisition might gain traction and then where would be without a classic mage-templar showdown?” 

“You sure know an awful lot about Thedas politics for someone from this...America of yours,” Varric said, and Lavender laughed her same choked-up laugh. 

“I've been slashed at and aimed at by both these guys,” she managed, before she glowed with her usual misplaced confidence again. “Obviously I know plenty about Thedas politics. Mages good, templars bad.” 

Mentally, Varric patted her on the back. If she had a problem with mages, she'd have a problem with Hawke—and he cared far more for Hawke than Lavender, in this case. 

Outwardly, he schooled his face into something stern. “Saying that is worth a death threat from any normal templar,” he told her. “If Cullen heard, he'd lose his hair in anger.” 

“Let him go bald,” she muttered, and then she quickly snorted. “Like Solas.” 

Varric could, for a moment, imagine Cullen with the same hairstyle as Solas, and vowed to keep the image out of mind. 

“Sans Undertale,” Lavender was mumbling, and it was by then Solas and Cassandra finally joined the group. Lavender took one look at Solas and quickly turned away, mechanically scurrying to a tree to climb. 

“Lavender,” Varric began, but she was having none of that. 

“As a Dalish,” Lavender said, “I will climb this tree as proof of my skills despite not actually being Dalish.” 

“I would suggest you not do that,” Cassandra said, knowing full well what would happen. 

“I only have one mana potion left,” Solas added, knowing full well he'd be in charge of the aftermath. Lavender laughed boisterously, full of arrogant youth, and proceded to scale the tree despite numerous protests, and fell off not soon after. 

Solas used his final mana potion. Cassandra made a noise of disgust. And Varric decided that the unfortunate part-idiot possessing Lavellan really did share something with Hawke, right down to the bad ideas. There was just something nagging at him, though. Maybe it was something she said, one of her many...less than coherent habits, but there was this sense of deja vu. 

Just his imagination. The only thing Lavender and Hawke shared were their occasional bouts of idiocy. 


	5. me n the bros talking about rice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i forgot i had this chapter in reserve haha whoops failing ap world and the psat will do that to u
> 
> okay fr i have a general idea of where i want this to go but idk how we're gonna cross the middle ground from here to the endnig.......whoops again
> 
> umm what else is important....i made gatorade rice over the weekend and it tastes bad, don't attempt it. i'm also failing chemistry too so i'm gonna mention chemistry a lot to try to make up for my grades from now on. unit test on chemical formulas and equations and etc is tmr wish me luck.

“Rice,” Lavender said, hands clasped and resting on top one of the tables at the Singing Maiden. Her gaze was sharp enough to take out one of his eyes. “Your thoughts?”

Varric took a seat across from her, feeling like he was on trial. “You called me here saying it was urgent for this?”

She didn’t budge from her position, sitting up straighter. “It’s very important to me. Like, I’ll die if you can’t give me an answer.”

“If I can’t tell you my thoughts on _rice_?” Lavender nodded, before her face contorted in that ever-endearing constipated look she often made, and she flopped onto the table like someone had yanked away her bones. Then her abrupt laziness turned to anger.

She pounded the table with a fist, head still pressed against the table. “I don’t know about you, Varric, but I used to live like royalty! Flushing toilets! Internet! Rice!”

“Rice,” he repeated. “I don’t know about this _internet_ thing, but I think they have flushing toilets in Val Royeaux.”

Lavender got up, to regard him with complete and utter suspicion. “You. I knew it. You came here to try to convince me to go to Val Royeaux like Leiliana’s been trying to do.” She shook her head, like a disappointed mother, only Varric was the one who should’ve been doing that. “Am I tool to you, Varric? A simple plaything you can manipulate into going to fancy places? You want me to sit in a horse and lose my ass to muscle dystrophy?”

Varric raised his hands, making a show of his placating words. “I came here because you sent a messenger saying it was urgent, not to convince you. But any convincing after coming here is different.”

“Aha!” she crowed. “You _did_ have the intention of making me go.”

He sighed. “Look, I’m not looking forward to sitting in a horse and making a journey just to see a bunch of wealthy Orlesians either. But this is important—and at least being the figurehead of the Inquisition, sometimes you’re going to have to be willing to put up with it.”

Lavender tapped her fingers against the table. She opened her mouth to say something, but sighed and mulled it over. She opened her mouth again. “Do we have enough funds for me to go buy some shiny things?”

Varric made a mental note to ask Leiliana later. “Sure we do. I’ll tell you what, since you got Dennet to join the Inquisition, you get to pick any horse you want.”

She seemed to light up at that. “You’re right, I’m like the best Inquisition leader ever, recruiting all these peop— _oh my god, I forgot about Blackwall_.”

“Blackwall?”

As she did most of the time, Lavender began bouncing her leg, before she slapped her thigh with a hand to stop it. “You know, that Grey Warden in the Hinterlands? Shouldn’t we go get him?”

“What Grey Warden?” Varric made yet another note in his mind. 

“You know, didn’t we—” Lavender stopped. “Doesn’t the quest...on god, am I going…”

“Lavender. Lavender?” She jolted, noticing he was there again. “A Grey Warden in the Hinterlands? Awfully specific. Is there something going on I should know?”

“Nothing! I mean, nothing. I just could’ve sworn…” Lavender cleared her throat. “Your _mom_ is awfully specific. I didn’t mean anything. Isn’t the weather nice? What were we talking about? Rice!”

“Rice,” Varric repeated again, for the third time.

“Your thoughts,” Lavender continued, and he finally recognized the pattern that would continue until he answered her.

“My thoughts on rice. It’s...okay? Didn’t eat much of it in Kirkwall, didn’t eat much of it here.”

“They have rice here?” Lavender blinked a couple of times, looking the happiest he had ever seen her. “That saves me so much trouble. Where can I get some?”

“You can go ask Flissa, I guess? If not, Josephine might be able to set you up.”

Lavender jumped up, making a dash for Flissa. She stumbled a bit, tripping and slamming her hands down on the counter, certainly catching Flissa’s attention, to which she replied, “What is it, Inquisitor?”

“Rice,” Lavender said. “Do you have rice?”

She blinked. “Rice. I don’t think so.” 

Lavender returned in defeat. Varric chuckled a little, his one small way of lightening the mood. “So, what’s with the fixation on rice?”

She sighed, a bone-weary kind of sigh, like her newborn kid had just been ripped from her arms. Something completely disproportionate to her current situation. Then she took a deep breath, and Varric realized he had just opened the gates to the long rant she had been holding in.

“Ever since we came back, instead of freshly slaughtered bunnies and those weird hairless nug things, we’ve been eating hard bread, weird mystery soup, and Ferelden cheese! I’m going to go crazy, Varric, if I come out of my room to eat and there’s more bread! What kind of meals are these? Do you want me to lose all my teeth?”

“...so you want to eat rice instead?”

She nodded. “That’s what I ate every day, except on noodle days. I get rice”—she slammed her hands down, no doubt drunk on anger—“which is soft and I use chopsticks so I don’t spend an eternity washing blood off my hands so I can hold my bread, which is twice as hard as those baguettes—” Deep breath. Lavender looked like she was about to cry.

“Hey, don’t worry. You said the bread was too hard, and...sticks?”

“Chopsticks,” she mumbled. “There’s no sinks here so I have to wash my hands in the basins filled with the same dirty water, and once I bit into bread and I…and I tasted blood!”

Varric sighed at the tears in her eyes. Always dramatic. He had seen her eat plants right off the bush and ground, even a wrapped up hunk of cheese that had been left at an abandoned campsite. “You wouldn’t have bloody hands if you stopped trying to loot the corpses.”

Her expression grew serious again. “There are _coins_ in those dead bodies, Varric. How do you think I bought this sick necklace?”

“Sick? Is it ill?”

Lavender snorted. “No, like...super cool. There was a Vine sorta like that with this beet, and...actually, forget it. I need money, Varric, because I asked Josephine the other day for funds to buy like ten of those Mabari statuettes, and she gave me that look—you’re doing it now!”

Varric, who was making the face, immediately settled back into a neutral expression. He took a page from Lavender’s book, and very calmly said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She huffed, but settled back down into her seat, looking less riled up and more pouty. Good. She could recognize when she was outmatched.

“I could’ve gotten AIDS or something from that bloody bread,” she mumbled. “I haven’t, but I’m still mad.”

“AIDS.” Varric was running out of mental space to take note of all her words.

“A disease transmitted through blood and the...stuff. It’s really important! We spent a week on this in Health in high school and I’m proud to say I would’ve aced the test, had I not been sleeping.”

“Right. _AIDS_ aside, I think it would greatly benefit you to head to Val Royeaux.”

Lavender rolled her eyes, melting back onto the tabletop. “Back to your business proposition.”

“All I’m saying is that we’d be willing to fund your hunt for shiny trinkets, and you’d be able to eat something other than bread and soup.”

“Like rice?”

“Probably not rice, but you know how Orlesians are—well, you _will_ know how Orlesians are, in your case. They’re the noble, fancy, uptight sort. Too good for bread and cheese like the rest of us. And think of it this way; once you’re back, Josephine and Leiliana will be so pleased, they’ll order as many shipments of rice as you want.”

Lavender straightened back up. “Varric,” she said, “look at you now. I think we understand each other much more clearly. I’ll settle for rice now, but sooner or later Josephine will have to produce those layered crepe cakes, and from then on I’ll only settle for twenty-four karat gold foil covered brandy truffles. And then I’ll start eating diamonds.”

“Wouldn’t eating diamonds start causing...complications?”

Her grin spread. “For my body or for the Inquisition’s funds?”

“Both.” 

“Oh ye of little faith, not to worry. I was actually really curious this one time because I watched this K-drama and this guy swallowed a bunch of diamonds…” Varric tuned out, nodding slowly at the right times, waiting for her words to dwindle. “...and I might get, like, hemorrhoids, but I shouldn’t die.”

“You know,” he said, recalling a similar memory about Hawke, “just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should.”

“Varric!” She gasped, and laid a hand across her forehead. “And I thought you were the least boring among our group. Solas is the most boring, of course, because he reminds me of an old man, and Cassandra’s just lawful good. And here I thought you were a neutral good bard.”

He smiled at her dramatics, lost in thought for a moment. Lavender seemed to notice, because she quieted down and propped up a cheek in her hand, her signature listening position.

“Okay. I can see you going all soft on me. What’s up?”

It was one of his fonder memories, with nothing serious looming over. Hawke had mostly mellowed out from the loss of her mother, and Carver had recently sent another letter back, so she was in better spirits. Anders had been enjoying a slight reprieve from all the healing, and seemed almost relaxed again.

“Did I ever tell you about the time Hawke swindled thirty soverigns from some wealthy Hightown noble?” Lavender shook her head. “It was afternoon, and Hawke was drunk off at least twelve tankards of the cheapest swill in the Hanged Man…”

By the time he finished it up with Hawke waking up from her poison-induced coma and Anders convinced she was dead, Lavender was still trying to eat a loaf of bread. She managed to tear a chunk off, and chewed vigorously. 

“Did you cry?” Lavender looked almost interested in the answer for a moment, but drew back and maintained her distant air.

“Do I ever cry?” Varric snorted, briefly wishing he had a drink. Nothing like storytelling with a light buzz going on. “I mean—she’s Hawke. Hell, I think she’s practically immortal at this point. There’s just about nothing in Thedas that could kill her.”

Lavender stilled, unusually so, and set the bread down.

“Who wants to eat dumb medieval Europe bread anyways,” she mumbled. “Not me.”

“Lavender?”

“What?” She stared at him, before breaking out into a smile. “Whatever. I’ve got an important question. Actually, if you answer right I’ll go pack up for Val Royeaux.”

His life depended on if he could answer right or not. Leiliana was getting impatient with how long the Inquisitor wanted to stay in Haven, and Varric was just about the only person she showed even the slightest intention of listening to.

“Alright,” he said, preparing himself. “What is it?”

“Me or Hawke,” Lavender firmly stated. “If we were both hanging off a cliff, who would you save? None of that both of you or neither of you bullshit, and don’t lie.”

He knew the answer. He suspected she did too, which made both lying and the question itself redundant.

“...Hawke,” he admitted. Lavender looked at him, and relaxed her shoulders.

“Great!” she replied, chipper as always. “Let’s go to Val Royeaux. I want a cool girlfriend, and I want to buy some fancy jewelry from fancy fantasy French people.”

“What was the point of the question?” Varric couldn’t help but ask, and she gave him a smug grin, like it was obvious. Maybe to her, but she always thought on a completely different level.

“Just for personal comfort. If Hawke and I are hanging off a cliff, you’d better pick Hawke over me. It’s bros before hoes, dude, that’s the bro code.”

He got up with her, following her out the door. “You’d rather I pick Hawke over you?”

“Uh, yeah? Let me put it this way; me, Hawke, and the King of Ferelden are hanging from a cliff. You’d pick Hawke first, then the King of Ferelden, then me. Right?”

“No, I’d pick you over the King of Ferelden. You’re my employer now, and I have a personal thing against betrayal.”

For some reason, Lavender didn’t seem satisfied. “No, no, you’d better pick the King of Ferelden before me. What’s your problem with poor Alistair? He’s got a wife, the Warden-Commander of Ferelden, who’s a lot cooler and might behead you if you pick him over me.”

“So you’re...trying to keep me alive?”

Lavender frowned. “Uh, when did I ever say that?”

“You just said to pick the King of Ferelden over yourself, otherwise I’d get beheaded.”

She nodded. “Yeah, I said to pick Alistair over me in case you get beheaded. Who said I was trying to keep you alive?”

“...nevermind. Why the specific hypothetical anyways? And why you, Hawke, and the King of Ferelden specifically?”

Lavender clapped her hands together, as if she was waiting for him to ask. “That’s because I, you know, I...thought very hard about the three most important people in your life. Your bro, your employer, and the King of Ferelden.”

Playing along, Varric asked, “why the King of Ferelden and not the Empress of Orlais?”

“Because Ferelden is the dog country, right? Did I get it right?”

Exactly what Hawke herself might’ve said, except with more conviction and pride. “You did.”

“Yeah, and dogs are better than whatever Orlais is the country of, so obviously King Alistair is way cooler than Empress...Cece?”

“Celene. What about the Queen of Ferelden? You said she was cooler, but you’re not considering her in your hypothetical question?”

Three nods, fast enough to look like convulsions. “That is, you know, because she’s cooler! So she wouldn’t be hanging from a cliff in the first place. She’s very cool. What did you say her name was? Cousland, right? Something Cousland?”

“Elissa Cousland.” Varric shook his head. “You know she’s cool, but you don’t know her name?”

“It doesn’t come up much!” she exclaimed, defending herself. Then, to herself, “wow, default names.”

Varric wisely decided not to comment on that, knowing she’d spin up some reason in no time. “Okay. So what you wanted from me was...to decide on order of importance?”

“You catch on quickly!” It was almost like being treated as a kid. It would’ve been patronizing, had Varric not known better. “Now repeat it for me.”

He rolled his eyes, but went, “Hawke, King of Ferelden, you.”

“Yeah!” She wiped a fake tear from her eye, pausing at the campfire at the bottom of the stairs. “Varric, you truly are a genius. Or maybe I’m a great teacher.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Exactly what I say. I’m gonna go find all my missing jewelry, see you when we take off for Val Royeaux!” Lavender kept waving at him, backing up until she tripped over her feet. She got back up and ran off to her room, slamming the door shut behind her.

Varric stood for a while, before he made his way upstairs, towards the Chantry, to report to Leiliana. They’d have to spare a bit of money to make good on his promise for souvenirs, a sacrifice he was sure was worthy enough. 

Hawke, the King of Ferelden, and the Inquisitor. Despite Lavender’s somewhat logical claims about them being important, it felt like there was still a missing link he was missing.


	6. travel vlog to val royeaux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wasn't gonna publish this until like after i started on chapter 7 but i found a reddit comment from 3 years ago where someone said their lavellan's nickname was lavender and seeing that made me desperate to prove to everyone i did NOT steal this nickname. i was lookin thru the wikipedia page (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Plant_symbolism) and that's where i got lavender. please do not report me for plagiarism (yes i recently also read the mgit fic lavellan and i swear i didn't i didn't know it existed until after i published this)
> 
> okay all the legal technicalities are done. my thoughts on this chapter are at the bottom

Lavender had, all things considered, a nice singing voice. Then again, that probably meant Inquisitor Lavellan had a nice singing voice and Lavender was just mooching off the body she was possessing. It took him a bit to remember, but Lavellan was the shy, quiet sort. Much too jumpy to relax enough to hum naturally. 

The point of Varric going through all this monologue to set up the scene was, of course, because Lavender was humming another one of her songs.

“Do you like to sing?” Cassandra asked. Quietly, this time, because the last time she said something in her normal tone of voice Lavender was startled enough to fall off her horse. And because she had to pick the horse with the worst temper, she was quickly trampled underfoot. Solas, who had lugged around an entire bag just filled with potions, had sighed and pulled out one.

“Hm?” Lavender only stopped after another two seconds. “Cassandra? Did you say something?”

“Do you like to sing?” Cassandra asked. “I’ve noticed you hum often. I don’t recognize any of the songs.”

“Oh, no, I’m not really a singer.” Lavender shifted in her seat, and the horse beneath her made what could only be described as a noise of pure hate. “Wait, have I been humming out loud?”

“...yes. I assumed you realized.”

Lavender slapped her knee (having learned her lesson accidentally slapping the horse) and shook her head. Varric heard a few things crack, hopefully nothing important. “Nope. I’m, like, the least self aware person ever. What have I been humming? Do you like it?”

“It’s...not unpleasant. I was only curious.” Cassandra hesitated a moment. Varric knew what she was thinking. Solas did too. “In any case, I will stress, I was only curious. Please do not attempt to sate your boredom by...thinking too hard about it.”

“I’m going to think about it anyways,” Lavender said, “because, really, I think my ass just melded with the horse right now. If I don’t distract myself I’m going to lose it.”

Cassandra made a slight disgusted noise as Lavender squirmed around some more, muttering to herself. 

“Was it vocaloid? Please don’t let it be vocaloid. That would be so embarassing. All Star? Yes, that would work…”

“Hey, Lavender,” Varric called, and she slipped—he felt the heavy gaze of Solas on his back—but thanks to the grace of Andraste and the Maker combined, she jerked back upright and saved the small group the trouble of trying to heal three broken bones again. 

“What’s up?” she asked, as if her life hadn’t flashed before her eyes again. 

“I was thinking,” he said, trying to think of a conversational topic that would ease both her boredom and his need to stay alive, between Solas and Cassandra. “We haven’t talked much about yourself, right?”

She looked at him funny. “I’m pretty sure you know my entire life story.”

“Not exactly. You’re pretty tight-lipped about your life. Something about being a scholar from an overseas country. That’s all I got.”

“Hm. Well. That’s not dramatic enough, you’re right. You know, what kind of stories do I have for you that don’t need context?” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Probably nothing. Why don’t we play twenty questions? You guys know what that is, right? Solas?”

“I would assume you ask twenty questions, if the name is anything to go by.”

Lavender clapped. The rest of the group watched her hands carefully, making sure she kept her balance. Nothing happened, so they all leaned back with a collective sigh of relief. “No, yeah, that’s basically it. Go on, Varric, ask me a question, I’ll answer it, and I’ll ask you one. You’ve been dying to know all my secrets, right?”

“Right. Sure I have.”

“Uh huh…” Lavender was starting to get more animated again. She had a habit of moving her hands a lot when she talked for long periods of time, like some human instinct to stretch so she wouldn’t let her muscles atrophy. Problem was, they were on horses, and Lavender had no balance.

“Your name, your real one,” Varric quickly said, which was the first thing that came to mind. “What is it?”

“Oh, man, that’s so boring. Yeah, no, skip. My turn! Varric, do you like Hawke? Romantically?”

“What? You can’t just skip—I thought the deal was I ask a question, you ask one?”

Lavender gave him a pointed look. “Um, no? I can skip if it’s too personal. Come on, Varric, identity theft is not a joke.” 

“Then what can I ask, if your name is too personal?” Again, Lavender looked incredulous.

“Obviously, you’re supposed to ask me juicy stuff. Like if I like someone. You haven’t answered, by the way, do you like Hawke? Answer the question.”

He shook his head. “Nah, too personal.”

“It’s important,” Lavender urged. “I can’t steal your identity from this question because I already know your name is Varric Tethras and your social security is four-twenty, sixty-nine, I-don’t-care.”

“What?”

Lavender sighed. “Answer the question.”

“I agree,” Cassandra said. “The Inquisitor is right. There is much you left out while telling the Tale of the Champion, and I simply only ask for the details to..corroborate with what knowledge I have.”

“With all due respect,” Varric began, as respectful as possible, “I get where you’re coming from, Seeker, but this kind of personal knowledge is, well, personal. And no, Lavender, I like Hawke, but we’re just friends.”

“...if that is your wish,” Cassandra finally stated. Lavender looked absolutely heartbroken for a moment.

“Well, I...I’ve never...the disrespect…” She sniffed haughtily. “Well, whatever. If you won’t date Hawke I will. We’re gonna run off into the Korcari Wilds to be Witches of the Wilds.”

Lavender’s tone, however, was light enough. Varric had no trouble retaliating with an equally light quip. “Objectively speaking, as her authorized biographer, she’d sooner run off with me than you.”

“That’s what Joe said.”

“Joe?”

Lavender paused, eyes wide, as she slowly stared at Varric. She gaped, her mouth opening and closing. “Oh my god…”

“What’s wrong? You mentioned a Joe?”

“Joe,” she slowly said, savouring each word. “Joe mama.”

Varric sighed. Cassandra and Solas followed close behind with their sighs. Lavender bristled, looking peeved. 

“Where I come from, this is a top quality joke,” she explained, the laughter in her eyes giving way to a dead serious lecture. “You should be honored to partake in such a societally momentous joke. This is the peak of humor.”

“Right,” Varric deadpanned.

“Yes, that’s right. My boyfriend Ligma taught me that.”

Now that was new. Lavender being open about her life. And she had a boyfriend? Varric would be damned if he didn’t take advantage of Lavender’s strange mood.

“Ligma?” he asked, trying to provoke a knee-jerk response from her. The smile growing on Lavender’s face, however, set him back in his tracks. Something cold dug into his chest.

“Ligma balls. You fell for it! I’m feeling so updog right now, I can’t even believe it.” He wouldn’t be fooled a second time. She frowned, but in true Lavender fashion, kept persevering. “No, you’re not sugondese enough? Don’t want to be bofa?”

“Did you make up a boyfriend just for the ligma joke?”

She sniffed. “Of course I did. I notice you’re not falling for the rest of them.”

“Having me fall for it twice already lets me know your intentions. If you were Hawke, I might’ve played along.”

“Soft on Hawke, now are we? And not me?” She shook her head. “The disrespect is appalling. You know what? Let’s change the topic. Why don’t you spell I map out? And then say ‘ness’ right after.”

“I map ness?” Lavender kept a straight face. Varric didn’t trust her at all, but there was a more pressing issue to be had. “Lavender, it doesn’t work like that.”

“Huh?” She stared at him like an idiot for a moment, but then she blinked and pounded a fist into an open palm. “Oh! Darn. You guys write differently. Doesn't that make me illiterate? Thank god you’re here to read for me, darling dwarf.”

“Darling dwarf,” Varric repeated. “Are you taking an interest in alliteration now?”

“Well, I was going to say dear to emphasize how close we are, but that felt too short. Darling is a bit of a stretch, isn’t it? Bummer.”

Varric pondered her words with more care than he needed to. “If it were Hawke, she might say dearest.”

“Hawke again,” came Lavender’s reply. “That’s the third time today. Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

Varric raised his hands (he seemed to be doing a lot of that around Lavender) and put on a mask of innocence. “Nothing at all, I assure you.”

“If you say so.” He knew Lavender wasn’t pushing it because he specifically mentioned it earlier. The thought was a little touching. Only a little, because Lavender oozed as much sentiment as she did charm, and if she did ooze charm, they wouldn’t be knee deep in most of their problems.

“And I do say so,” he told her, just to settle the damn thing. “Oh, would you look at that. Sky’s getting dark. We better find somewhere to camp.”

Cassandra sighed. “While you guys were talking, Solas and I had already figured out a place from the map. There’s a cave near here. We should be able to set up a fire before night.”

Lavender pressed her fingers to her mouth. “Cassandra, you are so on it. Only good vibes from you.”

“Yes, well, thank you, if that is a compliment.”

“Only a compliment of the highest order. Are we gonna eat nugs tonight? Please don’t let us eat nugs tonight.” 

They did not, in fact, eat nugs. Cassandra left for a moment and returned with four rabbits, looking no less tousled than before. Varric would’ve mentioned that he was the obvious choice for hunting dinner, being the only one with a long range weapon, but Cassandra looked so pleased at Lavender’s excessive compliments he held back. Now, was Cassandra getting _soft_ on the not-quite-demon? He didn’t think he’d live to see the day.

“You guys are very good at roasting rabbits,” Lavender, who almost burned hers to a lump of charcoal, said. “However, when it comes to reading the packaging to see how long to microwave a pre-cooked meal, I would be the best.”

“Yes, I assume that’s because we don’t share the same written language,” Solas offered.

Tearing another bite out of her dinner, she shrugged, reaching for the salt. “We’re all cynics, Solas. One day you’ll end up possessing someone’s body and be branded as a demon.”

He shook his head. “I highly doubt that.”

“One day,” she muttered, “one day…”

“As much as I love listening to your threats,” Varric started, just to make sure she didn’t get into some competition with Solas, “why don’t we discuss something else?”

Lavender, who was starting to look tired, nodded. Another point for Varric to take note of—Lavender was very pliable when tired. Probably carried through to her behavior when drunk.

“You see those stars? Look, there’s the Big Dipper—” She stopped and squinted. Leaned forward a bit, continued squinting, and then lay down, giving up. “Well, okay, there isn’t the Big Dipper. But I can tell you about how stars work. Wanna hear?”

“Sure,” said Varric, who did not care at all about how stars worked.

“Just don’t report me to the Chantry for heresy. I’ll be like medieval fantasy Copernicus.”

“Then, Varric, you don’t mind taking the first shift?” Cassandra and Solas gave him a pointed glance. “You can keep the Inquisitor company.”

Just to avoid conflict, and because it was all but confirmed anyways, Varric replied with, “sure thing,” and the two slipped off into the back to get some rest. Lavender was undaunted.

“Stars begin in the stellar nursery, which are nebulas, basically. When they gather together to form a star core, they start fusing hydrogen for energy.”

“Fusing hydrogen.”

“Yes, the first element.” She snorted. “I forgot, you guys are heathens who don’t have Mendeleev. Elements make up our world. And I don’t mean your magic elements like fire and ice. They’re atoms, microscopic particles that… I understand why my science teachers hated me so much now.”

Varric, who did not understand a word of her explanation, nodded wisely. “Because you didn’t get shit?”

“ _Precisely_ because I don’t get shit.” She shot him a grin. “Not to worry, Varric, I can keep going. Stars fuse hydrogen together to make helium, and they keep doing this until they reach iron.”

“Iron.” Varric gave her a glance. “You’re telling me stars make iron?”

“Yes they do. And then they explode.”

“Because they have iron?”

“Because once they get to iron, it takes too much energy to fuse iron together, so the star can’t go on, and it explodes. Don’t ask me any more, I wasn’t paying attention during the star unit.”

Varric tried a different approach. “You learn all this stuff?”

For once, Lavender seemed willing to engage in something more personal. “Everyone is required to get an education. In my country, you’d be forced to learn all this stuff. Most people go for higher education, because having a professional degree usually gets you more money.”

“That’s...interesting.”

Shaking her head, Lavender traced constellations he didn’t know with her eyes. “That’s how it should be. Each generation learns the scientific breakthroughs before it. What used to be revolutionary is common knowledge. And then I end up here and you guys don’t even know how to make showers or toilets or laptops.” There was the edge of a whine in her voice. 

“If you care so much, Lavender, you can try to teach us,” Varric offered. 

“As you can see, I’m so used to it I don’t bother actually learning how. I was majoring in liberal arts. Liberal arts! My parents made such a fuss, and I still went, no, how about I get an undergrad in psychology or sociology?”

Varric sighed. Lavender sighed. 

“So...wanna tell me about Hawke again?” Lavender at least made an attempt to look like a kicked puppy. Unfortunately for her, he was from the Free Marches, and Ferelden tactics did nothing to him. However, Hawke was another story. Damn it. Fourth time that day.

“Haven’t I told you all the good ones?”

“There’s gotta be more. Like, um…” A pause. “Well, I can’t think of anything. But you’ve got something, right?”

“Not at the moment, no.”

Lavender huffed. “No, okay, teach me how to play Wicked Grace. I still haven’t figured it out even though you always talk about it in your stories.”

“Fair enough.” If he could teach Hawke’s mabari how to play, teaching Lavender would be easy. Probably. “Do you know the cards?”

Way more cheerful than she ought to be, Lavender chirped, “nope.”

“We’ll start there, then. You have the Angels, the Knights, the Serpents, and the Songs. Within those, you have…”

When Cassandra and Solas came to relieve them of their position, Varric had almost gotten to explaining the hands. Lavender’s greatest issue was memorizing all the cards, especially since he didn’t have a deck on him. He was beginning to feel sympathy for her, reminded of how Lavender struggled to explain her science.

They left the pair sitting by the mouth of the cave, retreating further into the back, where the flickering light from the flame wasn’t as bright. From up ahead, neither Cassandra nor Solas said anything. Varric could tell it’d be a long shift for them.

“How about I sing you a lullaby, Varric?” Lavender was as chipper as always, even though she yawned between every other sentence. “I’ve got a great song. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

“Is it one of those songs that make you laugh uncontrollably?”

“Is it—oh, like Revenge. No—well, I was considering it, but now I’ll sing you a serious one. Honest. I only just thought of it, but I think it’s very fitting for you.”

“Right.” Varric’s voice was dry as he leaned his back against the cave wall. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t quite believe you.”

“I will forgive you, but this one should be wonderful. And don’t worry, Lavellan has a way nicer voice than I do. I mean, last time I tried to sing with my actual body my friends started bleeding from their ears.”

“I suppose they learned a lesson then.” Lavender had spoken lightheartedly, so he took it as a joke, but then reconsidered. “That was a joke, right?”

“You’ll have to find out,” Lavender cheerfully told him, laying her head on the pillow she insisted on bringing. “Now, not to worry, I’m sure Solas can heal any ear injuries you get.”

“I’d rather not anger him with another injury.”

Lavender grinned. He could barely see it in the dim light, but he couldn’t mistake the way her eyes lit up. “He’d just be like, ‘Master Tethras, I believe I told you not to listen to the Inquisitor.’ You know?”

“You’re a little off on the voice, but I guess your word choice isn’t too far off.”

“Right?” Lavender threw her blanket over herself. “Where was I? Oh, yes. This one’s called ‘I’m Not Calling You a Liar’ by Florence and the Machine.” She waited for him to react, but Varric had never heard of the song before.

She was undaunted. “It’s only natural you don’t know it. I never expected any fourth wall shenanigans from you in the first place.”

Varric had since grown tired of always asking what everything she said meant, and wisely refrained from asking. He had learned his lesson from the previous Joe and ligma incidents. Lavender cleared her throat, going through all the motions of preparing to sing a song. And then she fell into silence.

“Don’t tell me you’re chickening out,” Varric said, already growing sleepy.

“No, I’m not. I just gotta remember the lyrics. Okay, I got it. Don’t say anything else. I gotta concentrate.”

She took a deep breath, and to his great surprise, actually started singing. It was quiet, something he had to strain to hear. He wouldn’t admit it to her now, but she had a nice voice and the song had a decent melody. And it was a bonus, being able to understand the lyrics.

But it was a familiar. A little too familiar, like the words were something he’d been carrying and the tune was something so close it was at the tip of his tongue.

_Hawke_ , he thought. The memory of Hawke humming the same tune surfaced. She had been tossing rocks into the Waking Sea, perched off a cliff on the Wounded Coast. 

_What are you humming? Never heard that before._

A sharp grin. _Oh, you know, heard it from a travelling bard. Nothing special._

Was that why Lavender expected him to know? But that was such a flimsy connection, if not unlikely. He closed his eyes. He’d ask her once he got the chance to in Val Royeaux. For now, he turned the lyrics over in his mind, committing them to memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> personally i think lavender is humming the transistor ost tracks bc i love that game but it's open ended so have fun.
> 
> also i think i might end up incorporating some level of implied varric/hawke but they will not actually get together. please ask me for my varric/hawke fic recs and if no one does i will put them in the author's note of the next chapter. pick your poison.
> 
> also i finished da2 over the weekend and on god florence + the machine got me at credits. i will never finish any other dragon age game out of respect for da2. also while i'm at it the music that plays when ur in the hawke mansion?? easily my fav ost track from dragon age.


	7. ok boomer x2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >oh i havent scrolled thru moderngirlinthedas in a while haha  
> >  
> >WAIT IS THAT MY FIC IN A REC?
> 
> this chapter brought to you by the acknowledgement my fic exists on THE platform for mgit/mcit fics. i just had to pull myself off my ass and polish off my draft (took me only 3 hours of frantic panicking!!)
> 
> umm what to say....first of all i realized lavender does not curse as much as she should, which is my fault. im used to toning down my cussing in front of my teachers so now ive realized that, expect a sudden increase in cuss words. ALSO! i would like to explain, if mgit.tumblr.com is reading this that damn...there isn't a lot of culture clashing in this fic simply because: ive been born and raised chinese. all my friends are chinese. i live in sf, a majority minority city. i honestly have no idea what non-chinese ppl live like and i have no non-chinese friends as a reference point.
> 
> tldr; yes lavender is chinese yes from now on i will google what white ppl live like to bring yall the asian mgit u truly deserve. i only bring the best for u guys <3

They made it to Val Royeaux with remarkably few injuries. Mostly because Lavender kept falling asleep. The horse hadn’t warmed up to her much, but she had learned from her mistakes and kept her hands out of biting distance. There weren’t even faint scars lining her fingers, surprisingly. Either Solas was a lot better at healing than he let on, or the extra health potions Lavender started drinking when she thought water got boring was working.

Their horses were kept at a nearby tavern, as Cassandra arranged for two rooms. It saved them the coin, she said, and someone needed to keep an eye on the Inquisitor anyways.

_Not the Inquisitor_ , Varric had reminded her. _Some outsider possessing her_.

_You will refer to her by nickname or by title. We cannot afford to let loose lips destroy the little reputation we have_.

_Yeah, yeah_. Lavender hadn’t been listening to their conversation, instead rushing to the bathroom. “Varric! There’s a big ass wooden tub!”

“Yes, do you know what they are?”

“Well—” She stopped, poked her head out of the bathroom, and stared. For a moment the room they were gathered in felt crowded. “The nerve of this fucking medieval dwarf… No, I’m the bigger person. Yes, I know what a tub is. Did I bring spare clothes? I did. I’m taking a bath.”

Lavender dove for her huge pack, pulling out trinkets and knives before finding a single spare outfit. She made a mad dash for the bathroom, despite the piercing glares of the three other occupants, who had made it explicitly clear they were going to plan their next course of action. Varric, however, knew something Lavender probably didn’t.

“Since we don’t make enough to afford the fancy metal tubs with self heating runes, you’re going to have to draw up water yourself and heat it up.”

She stared at him, still holding her clothes. And then she broke into laughter.

“Oh, Varric, you don’t know anything, do you? Obviously, because I am a well learned mage who has definitely been paying attention to Solas…” She strode into the bathroom and held her hands above the basin. She made a face, and to her credit, her hands did frost a little. She stopped.

“Can’t make ice?” Varric leaned against the doorframe to direct towards her a shit eating grin. “Well learned mage, you said? I’m sure any toddler from the Circle could do better.”

“Solas!” Lavender called, and then turned to Varric, huffing. “Mark my words, Varric, once I figure out how to really use magic, I’ll be burning off your chest hair.”

Solas strolled inside, as composed as always. “Is there something you require?”

Lavender pointed at the tub. “Can you fill it with ice and then melt it so it’s skin-melting hot? Please?”

Solas had his reservations for sure. “Cassandra wanted to discuss our plans before nightfall.”

“I know, I know. I’ll get to that, but I’ve been freezing my ass off in rivers and I gotta be fresh and clean if I wanna make an impression on Orlesians. You know?” She made a pleading expression, eyes watery and wide. “Please?”

Sighing, Solas seemed to weigh his options. Cassandra would be mad, but Lavender wouldn’t throw a tantrum. Varric could read it in the defeated expression Solas carried, because he raised his staff, filled the tub with ice, and then melted it until thick wisps of steam rose from the water.

Lavender experimentally dipped her hand into the water. “That’s kinda cold.”

“That’s the hottest you can go without risking injury.”

“You sure?”

Varric appraised the water. “I think he’s right.”

She shrugged. “If you say so. Okay, get out, I’ll be done soon! You guys fill me in when I’m done!” She shoved Varric and Solas outside, shutting the door behind her. Varric sighed, but he could respect wanting to be clean. Cassandra didn’t seem too mad either, only defeated.

“Once she’s done,” she began, stiffly sitting down on the bed, “we should get a move on. The Summer Bazaar should be where we go first. I’m sure she can behave herself.”

Varric chuckled. “Why is it you don’t sound like you believe that?”

“Because I don’t,” she flatly said. “But we have no choice. What has it come to, that we must rely on her?”

“You sound a lot more troubled than you were yesterday,” Solas offered. “Is there something on your mind?”

“No. Yes. I am not sure.” She grunted. “There is too much to consider. We must seal the breach, but she cannot even wield magic properly.”

“Hey, she can learn.” And the mark. “And the mark,” he added. “That’s what’s most important for sealing the breach, not magic. We can figure out some way to, I don’t know, amplify that power.”

Cassandra sighed, and nodded. “You are right. I will deal with what’s in front of us first, before considering everything else. If nothing, I suppose your...Lavender has not turned on us yet.”

“Lavender?” Varric grinned. “Shit, Seeker, you’re calling her by her name now? Are you getting soft?”

“Her nickname,” she quickly retorted. “She is not...the original Inquisitor, so it’s easier to call her by a nickname. We still have no clue to her real name, in any case.”

“Is it really that important? If she’s telling the truth, we won’t have any records of places outside of Thedas. The Qunari are already cutting it close.”

“And what if she is lying?” Cassandra asked, just quiet enough to not be a shout. “In that case, we will be able to figure out her aim.”

“And what about trust?” said Varric, who most certainly did not trust Lavender. “I even thought you were starting to like her yesterday.”

Stiffly, Cassandra said, “it is not that I don’t want to trust her. But this is not just about what I believe. We represent the Inquisition. This is so much larger than just or me, or even... _Lavender_.”

“If I may,” Solas added. “While Cassandra brings up an excellent point, I believe I must side with Master Tethras here. There can be no guarantee we’ll ever get her real name. Furthermore, if her claims of an outside country, perhaps continent, are to be believed, there can be no proof of that. Thedas on its own is far too isolated, even with the Qunari presence.”

“So you…” Varric waved a hand around. “You believe what she said about an outside country?”

“I do not,” Solas flatly said. “But in this situation, I am only able to believe what she says.”

Cassandra groaned, pressing a hand to her temples as she sat on the bed. “So what do we do now? We can’t even prove anything she says exists, and we have no choice but to accept her words as the truth if we are to even try to understand anything.”

“Jesus, why are you guys stressing over it now?” came Lavender’s voice. “What’s up? I just got here, but you guys sound like my entire AP World class the day before the spring semester finals. I swear, we were all screaming at each other about the Columbian Exchange only to realize a bulk of the finals were on systems of coerced labor. Hello, does it _look_ like I studied the encomienda system? Luckily, the Atlantic slave trade was a component in the Columbian Exchange, so I studied that, but I still barely passed that class, let alone the final.”

“What.” Varric made a brave attempt to understand what she was talking about. Her hair was still wet, but it looked as if it had ample time to dry. And since Lavender was utterly incapable of magic, he was led to the conclusion that she had heard the bulk of their conversation. Not that he’d let anyone else know his observation.

“Don’t worry, you’re not taking the AP Exam. You don’t need to know this stuff.” Lavender took a seat next to Cassandra, vigorously rubbing at her hair with a cloth. She hooked the strap of her bag with her foot to drag it over to herself, and she dragged out the armor she had packed. “As you can see, I brought my favorite set of armor to impress everyone.”

It was, in fact, her favorite set of armor, which Varric vaguely recalled she had christened Leaf Armor because the actual Lavellan couldn’t inform them of whatever actual name it might have.

“The Leaf Armor,” Cassandra said.

“I like the leaves,” Lavender confessed. “Though I hope this isn’t some heirloom armor. I’d hate to ruin that for Lavellan.”

“No, I think you’re pretty safe. I’m pretty sure I saw her testing a couple of magic spells on it.”

Lavender stopped trying to tug on the shoes to give the whole thing a once-over. “Oh, is that so?” She opened her palm to reveal a small, flickering flame, which tragically went out before she could smack herself with it. “Fuck. Solas, I’m going to need you to—”

“No.”

“I bet you’ve never had fun in your life,” is what Lavender eventually replied. “I’m appalled. I only ask that you check the integrity of the Leaf Armor so that I may understand its capacities and utilize its properties efficiently when in battle, as we often find ourselves in during this perilous journey—”

Varric sighed, affixing her with what he hoped was a stern look. “Solas is a perfectly respectable man—elf—and his concern over your wellbeing is respectable.”

“You said respectable twice.” Lavender snorted, breaking into small peals of laughter as she covered her mouth mockingly. “You sure you’re an author? Varied word choice is a given for that, isn’t it?”

“Enough.” Cassandra put an end to the whole conversation, and her sudden interjection shocked Lavender enough to send her tumbling off the bed with a soft cry of “ _Shit! Fuck!_ ” as she rolled to a stop across the room. Varric peered at her crumpled figure with only a touch of worry.

He called, “you okay there?”

“I’m not,” she called back, despite being perfectly fine when she stood up. Did consistently getting injured help her build up some sort of immunity? Tough skin, maybe. Almost on par with the magic rock armor Daisy would conjure up back when they got into scrapes in Kirkwall’s Darktown.

“I apologize for startling you, Inquisitor,” Cassandra quietly offered as Lavender crawled back to return to her seat on the bed. “But it is of utmost importance we discuss our plans, as we are here in Val Royeaux.”

“I second that.” Solas nodded. “Though I assume you already know of our primary objective,” he directed at Lavender. She made a face. The Leaf Armor’s final leafy pieces snapped onto her arms and she tied a light green sash around her waist, and she continued making her I’m-confused-but-I-can’t-let-them-know face.

“Yes. We talk to...the…” She paused. “Hold on, we’re not talking to anyone? We’re just here because Mother Giselle said so. What kinda plan do we need?”

Cassandra bristled. “Well, there is always—”

Lavender slapped her thighs a couple of times impatiently, getting on her feet. “In these situations, we gotta walk in there and show how confident we are. Assert your dominance! We can’t let those rich Orlesian nobles think we’re some week old Ferelden-slash-Free-Marcher trash!” Cassandra was actually from Nevarra, but that was probably too advanced for Lavender.

“Master Tethras, have you been teaching her geography again?”

“No. I’m actually impressed she remembers what they’re called.” Lavender nodded, as if they had been giving her compliments of the highest caliber and not patronizing asides.

“Oh yes, Varric, I know all about Thedas geography and culture. Midwestern American Ferelden, French Orlais, and…I don’t know what the Free Marches are, Canada?”

“What?”

Lavender pondered some more, as she slipped a smaller bag out of her bag to fill solely with a knife and a few vials of elfroot potion. She wandered out the door, no doubt making her way to the Summer Bazaar, as the rest of the group scrambled to follow her. Couldn’t have her dying out of sight, after all. Privately, Varric thought that was fine too. Some things were better decided spontaneously, which happened to be Lavender’s specialty.

She meandered her way through the walkway filled with statues, as Varric and the others awkwardly stopped to listen to the Inquisition scout. From the corner of his eye, he could see Lavender curiously stopping to read every single plaque, despite, y’know, not being able to read.

“Very interesting,” she said, nodding her head at one of them, pointedly ignoring the reports of templars from the scout. Which was especially risky for her, even as the head of the Inquisition, being an undocumented mage and all. An elf mage with a lot more bluster and a lot less etiquette needed to navigate in Orlais.

If anything, what this group needed was _his_ brand of witty dwarven charm to think of surviving.

The scout departed as they joined Lavender in staring at the plaques. “Would you like me to read that for you?” Solas offered. Ah, he wanted to indoctrinate her into his scholarly ways, perhaps.

“No thanks. I like looking at the pictures.” Lavender slapped the calf of the statue in front of her fondly. “You think I can bring one of these back to Haven?”

“No.” Cassandra began walking ahead, and sure enough, Lavender scrambled to follow her, almost tripping over her own feet in the process. 

“Wait, wait up, you walk so _fast_ —” Lavender stopped to stare at the center of the Summer Bazaar, mouth gaping. So Orlais architecture could surpass her hometown’s sights? Before he could break out a quip involving that, she ran right for the circle in the center and stomped on the moat.

Cassandra rushed over right away. “ _What_ , pray tell, are you doing?”

“Checking the structural integrity of this bad boy,” Lavender casually replied, beginning to jump. “Huh, it’s not giving in. Leave it to fantasy France to make good decorative moats.”

“I hate to break it to you, Lavender, but someone your size isn’t going to break that.” Varric offered a friendly chuckle just to show how casual he was, lest she start throttling him for mentioning how small she was again. 

“As opposed to you?” She stopped stomping to place her hands on her hips. “I’m still taller than you, _dwarf_.”

“That’s because my kind have the predisposition of being short, but elves don’t exactly have that going for them, now do they?”

Before Lavender could shoot something back, Solas calmly spoke. “I believe the members of the Chantry and the templars are over there.” Lavender stopped, squinted in the direction Solas was inclining his head towards, and nodded, as if appraising the looks of the Chantry Mother.

“Hey, Solas is right.” Lavender dusted off imaginary dust from her Leaf Armor and cleared her throat, plastering on a bright grin. “I call this grin the American grin, because that’s how all the Chinese grannies knew I was from America.”

“Wait, excuse me, I might need some backstory on that.” After all, it was a little unfair she had basically mastered Theodosian geography and he still had no idea what “America” and “Chinese” was. Cassandra and Solas turned from the crowd, their actual objective, to Lavender. Some things could wait.

Lavender nodded sagely. “It seems I must enlighten you guys. You see, only Americans have this”—she grinned wider, almost like she was baring her teeth—“while Chinese people show absolutely no teeth.” To demonstrate, she only smiled demurely. “Get it?”

“Well, sort of—”

“See? Easy! Next thing you know I’ll be teaching you guys about the intricacies of the guy nod, which took me many interviews to grasp.” Lavender looked far too proud of herself. “But for real, you guys are so holding us up. Aren’t we supposed to be talking to the Chantry? Slowpokes. If it weren’t for me we wouldn’t get anything done.”

“Well, if you had—”

Varric pat Cassandra’s shoulder. “Relax, Seeker, she’s joking. Lavender’s not dumb enough to recognize she contributes the least here.” 

“Hey! If you haven’t realized, I do plenty of—”

“If we can move on,” Solas ground out. Seeing how the most patient person in their group had lost it, Lavender quickly shut her mouth, plastered on her smile, and marched for the crowd in front of them. And because Lavender had the luck of a dying beggar, the Chantry Mother immediately hit her with the accusation of murdering the Divine.

Lavender blinked at the Chantry Mother, before stopping and turning to Varric, pointing a finger at herself. _Me?_ she mouthed.

_You_ , he mouthed back. She returned a suitably mock shocked expression, as if considering the fact that maybe she had murdered the Divine.

“We say this is a false prophet! The Maker would send no elf in our hour of need!”

“Wow,” Lavender said, before Varric could force her to turn around and figure out something diplomatic to say. “That’s kinda racist, not gonna lie. Although, see, it really doesn’t hurt much. That’s basically like calling me a chink. I might as well bust out the laugh track now, boomer.”

“What the Inquisitor means,” Cassandra quickly added, before someone could ask what a boomer was, “is that we only came here to talk. We seek only to end this madness before it is too late!”

Varric expected the Chantry Mother to not listen, but he didn’t expect the Templars she announced to strike her down. Lavender only snorted at the sight of them. For some reason, nothing in her expression screamed surprised, like she had expected it in the first place.

Cassandra chased down her Lord Seeker Lucius, and Varric instead kept an eye on Lavender, who regarded the proceedings before her the same way she watched the Templars march across the platform. As if she were the only audience in a theater, watching with thinly veiled disinterest. It made something in his gut uncomfortable. That type of uncaring person seemed to contradict Lavender’s usual way of conducting herself.

“Lord Seeker Lucius, was it?” Lavender dropped her wide “American grin” as soon as the Lord Seeker was done speaking, molding her expression into an unreadable smile. “Go eat shit and die. Where are you hurrying off too, Lucius? You will never find that which you’re looking for—a bigger dick, no doubt.”

Despite himself, Varric wondered if it was too late to find another Inquisitor. But much to his surprise, Lord Seeker Lucius didn’t draw his blade and slaughter a helpless elven mage like he imagined he might. With a harsh bark, Lord Seeker Lucius turned away. “Speak your pathetic insults as you wish. It will not change the fact that the Inquisition, as it stands, is nothing.”

“Aww, sweetie, you think that hurts? Better watch out at night, I might come in your room and remove those pathetic ballsacks from your shriveled up body.”

After a few more words—which Varric thought was as irrelevant as Lavender did, seeing as she picked at her nails the entire time—Lord Seeker Lucius left, leaving behind two angry faces. Surprise, surprise, Varric wasn’t one of the angry ones.

“What were you thinking?” Cassandra hissed, face already having turned purple at Lavender’s earlier remarks.

“I must agree. What were you thinking? An early death does none of us any good. I had thought you were much more mature and in control of yourself to speak like that in front of a templar, no less.”

“My bad.” She laughed sheepishly, ducking her head to wriggle around nervously. It was as if all earlier trace of her cold mockery was gone, leaving behind the cheerful idiot Varric had almost thought was the real Lavender. “I just don’t like old, conceited guys.”

“This goes beyond your dislike of—when it comes to the Inquisition, we trust you to lead it and leash in your feelings! I—ugh!” Cassandra threw down her hands, Solas sighed, and Lavender’s smile grew into a nervous grin.

“But he didn’t get mad and kill me! Besides, Cassandra, that’s not the Lord Seeker Lucius you knew, right?” She stepped past Cassandra to approach the vendor behind them, and before he knew it Lavender had somehow recruited a new agent into the Inquisition all while Cassandra was still fuming. Solas appeared to have calmed down since, though Varric knew better. He was only masking his true feelings of wanting to throttle Lavender, which he suspected they all desired, to some degree.

She was speaking to the Chantry Mothers, not even bothering to disguise the smugness in her expression. “Just tell me one thing,” one was saying. “Do you _truly_ believe you are the Maker’s chosen?”

He could read the expression on her face. He was sure all of them could.

_The Maker doesn’t exist_. She was adamant about her belief, despite having clashed with Cassandra multiple times over such an opinion. Varric could almost hear the outrage she would stir up with her words, even if he himself didn’t particularly care for what belief she held.

Instead, Lavender watched the Mother with a carefully blank expression. Cassandra and Solas waited for Lavender to speak her opinion and potentially have the Inquisition truly labeled as heresy. Varric, however, waited for something different.

Lavender tilted her head, expression unreadable. “We’ll have to see about that, won’t we?”


	8. but what about the bees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finished all my online classwork so i took advantage of the quarantine to finish up chapter 8. rn is probably not the best time for a chinese main character. or me being chinese for that matter haha....
> 
> anyways sorry for the delay & there will probably be more delays as i prep for the condensed may ap exam. wish me luck please if i don't get a 5 i think i'll cry. anyways whew i finally finished persona 3 portable after skirting around it for so long and long story short i'm starting a ng+ so expect me to pepper in some references while i continue crying abt the ap exam

“I’m not a bourgeoisie bastard,” Lavender muttered while rummaging around for something shiny to hang around her neck. “The history of all hitherto existing society is the history of class struggles... I’m not a capitalist pig… I only conform to what I need to be...”

“You okay there?” Varric didn’t see the need for Lavender to dress all fancy when it was expected for her to simply stroll into Madame de Fer’s salon in armor. “You sound stressed just looking for jewelry.”

“I’m coping,” she simply responded, and rose to her feet, clutching something gold in her hands. “You know, I think this dress is the most expensive thing I’ve ever worn. _Not_ counting the Gucci handbag I borrowed in senior year.”

Varric saw it as an opportunity to pry. Cassandra sharpened her sword and Solas took some notes down in a small, bounded notebook, but both had their heads ever so slightly inclined, greedy for any information they could glean. In Cassandra’s case, to feed back to Nightingale. “You didn’t grow up with a lot of wealth?” Varric casually asked, in the most conversational way he could manage. Lavender fumbled with the clasp, hooking her necklace on the third try.

“Depends on what you consider wealthy,” she replied, grabbing a bracelet she looted from a corpse days earlier to raise to the sunlight streaming through the room’s window. “Hm. Looks like glass to me.”

Varric all but rushed to her side, snatching up the bracelet. “Let me see that.” With his keen eye for detail—usually for the purpose of picking out grammatical errors—he appraised it in a far more professional way than Lavender did. “This is good stuff, Lavender. A polished and cut gem. What kind of person dies with this on them in the Hinterlands?”

“Thieves, maybe.” Lavender snatched the bracelet right back, making poor attempts to close the clasp around her wrist. Varric sighed and took the ends from her hands, clasping it for her. Vaguely, he let the slightest notion of a thought pass through his mind—that maybe older brothers did that for their sisters—before dropping the idea completely. Anything to get away from the split-second image of Bartrand. “Well, I’m done. How do I look? Good enough for a salon?”

Varric appraised her. He was aiming for a _won’t-get-kicked-out-right-away_ sort of decency, but Lavender more than fulfilled that criteria. If there was an award for most okay-est looking noble, without taking into account the xenophobic nature of humans against elves, she’d be up there with the fifth daughters.

He didn’t voice that thought. “You sure you want to wear those traditional Orlesian dresses? There’s no protection from getting stabbed above the chest in those types of dresses.”

“You mean the square neckline?” She rubbed the gold chain and small gem hanging off her necklace. “Not like the rest of the dress is any more protective.”

“I still don’t understand why you insisted on a dress,” Cassandra said, not looking up from her blade. “Your job is not to be a politician or look nice.”

“It’s important,” she insisted. “Important to me. I bet at some point we’ll be invited to a fancy ball or whatever, and I’ll have to dress good. And if that does happen, not saying it will, but if, then I insist on wearing a dress as well.”

Solas rose from his leaning position. “If you’re ready, we should get going.”

“Ugly ass Winter Palace clothes,” Lavender muttered as she passed by Varric to get to the door. His head quickly snapped up to the other two companions, who didn’t seem to hear. So it was up to him again.

“What?” he called, despite knowing what would happen. Sure enough, Lavender turned around, shot him a confused, twitching expression with a tilted head, and acted completely innocent.

“What?” she echoed. “Varric, are you hearing things again?”

He could only grit his teeth and wish the broody elf or Rivaini were here to back him up. “Must be something only my dwarf ears can catch,” he told her, stepping outside of the room behind her. They made small talk as they exited the tavern together, and Lavender stopped to shield her eyes from the sun and squinted upwards, as if searching for something in a daze.

“Is something wrong?” Varric found himself asking, as he always did whenever Lavender grew silent. It meant either she was up to something—or it was one of her rare, reflective moments.

“Your mom is wrong,” she retorted, with half the passion she would usually carry, and before he could inquire further, she had already started jogging to catch up with Cassandra. Varric only trotted right after. They were mostly quiet as they made their way to Duke Bastien’s estate. Once in a while, Lavender would bring up a casual topic and they’d all offer her their thoughts, though unable to sway her opinion. 

To his surprise, he was a normal amount of worried when Lavender had to enter by herself. A normal amount meaning he, Cassandra, and Solas all stared at each other once she strolled inside, each contemplating a different idea.

“I can sit on someone’s shoulders and do my best Orlesian accent,” he offered.

“That is too risky. I propose we stick close to the building, or find someone to listen in for us.”

“And waste coin? No, if we stack ourselves we can peek through any window in this place.” Varric made a point of looking around for a suitably high window. “Is this what a parent feels like sending off their kid to fight darkspawn?”

“If they’re confident enough to have their child fight darkspawn, I’d wager they would not be as concerned as we are.” Solas, as always, delivered the punch in the most polite wording manageable. “As much as I can agree with wanting to know what is going on, I have to suggest we simply wait.”

“You have faith in her?” Varric joked.

“You’re the one who has the most,” he cooly replied. Cassandra made a noise of agreement and Varric had to stop and actually consider why they would think that. Sure enough, he stood up for her plenty of times, however vague he was. Damn. Was he starting to have misplaced faith in someone other than Hawke?

He laughed nervously. “Let’s not be hasty here, perhaps you two have been fast to speak.”

“Are we?” Cassandra leaned in closer, narrowing her eyes down at him. “This morning, you were the one who supported her spending two hours looking for just one dress.”

“If she insisted on it that much, and she has her own funds for it, why not? That’s her time she’s spending.” Varric backed up just a little, shooting a look towards Solas, who made no move to help him. Jerk.

“And ours.” Cassandra advanced further. “We are the ones who need to follow her around like _bodyguards_.” Despite how threatening she was trying to look, she sounded less actually upset and more...fondly exasperated. Or maybe he was reading too much into it.

“ _You_ seemed pretty trusting of her when she promised she’d hold off on climbing trees just for you,” Varric shot back, and Cassandra flushed red, caught off guard by the cold, hard facts. 

She made vague motions with her hands. “I was not—you are just— _ugh_!” She threw her hands up. “She stayed true to her promise!” Her admittance was tense. 

“Right, she didn’t pull any stunts until the next day.”

“She exercised self control!” Cassandra paced back and forth, as if their little disagreement had trapped her body. Each footstep was a little heavier than the next, like she was stomping in a tantrum. “I do not see how this relates to our topic,” she coldly finished.

Spreading his hands, Varric would only later realize his words were a lot more similar to Lavender’s than he’d care to admit. “It means everything to our topic,” he said. “I mean, you don’t want to admit it, but she is starting to grow on you, isn’t she?”

“What? Preposterous!” Cassandra scoffed at him. Solas hid his bored expression and turned his gaze elsewhere to sightsee in the meanwhile. “I only care for her as someone borrowing the Inquisitor’s place.”

“You weren’t very close to the Inquisitor in the first place,” said Varric. “But you’re a lot nicer to Lavender than me, for instance.”

“Nonsense. I treat the two of you the same.”

“Even Solas can call bullshit on that. Solas?”

“From what I’ve seen, Master Tethras is not exaggerating.”

“She’s the Inquisitor! Some level of cordiality is necessary!”

“You can believe that if you want.” Cassandra spluttered again, hands moving around with tremendous speed to either get him in a chokehold or swing her sword. “But before you stab me, I think that’s Lavender coming out.”

Sure enough it was, and she descended the steps with as much grace as anyone would expect from her; she hopped down a couple of steps before climbing onto the banister to slide down and crash onto pavement.

“The very image of grace,” Varric muttered in an aside to his two companions. 

“Guys! I got ourselves a new companion!” She dusted off her dress, brushing her hair into a braid. “Okay, let’s go check on that Red Jenny thing now.”

“Shouldn’t we go back first so you can get changed?” Varric asked. Lavender squinted her eyes at him.

“What’s wrong with this? I brought a morningstar anyway, so it’s not like I’m unprotected.”

“You what?” Lavender pulled up the long skirt to her dress and unstrapped a small morningstar from her thigh, brandishing it proudly. 

“I chopped off part of the stick so it fit better and I gotta say, I should’ve been a blacksmith. This mini-morningstar is a work of genius.” Varric rubbed a hand into his face in exasperation.

“How did I not see you sneak that into your dress?” Lavender swung her little toy around, as if she were play-fighting with a stick.

“It’s really small, which is why it’s perfect for a little surprise. Okay, now hurry up, we gotta go look around for the Red Jenny things!” Lavender tucked her little weapon back into her skirt and ran off, leaving the rest of them with no other option but to follow.

If it weren’t for her sobering up when the situation was serious, there would have long been disciplinary measures implemented. As it was currently, Lavender could get away with her hyperactivity.

Sure enough, she managed to find every Red Jenny hint as soon as they entered the area. When they entered the cafe, for instance, she dove right for the floor, startling the people sitting at the table beside her. 

“Sorry, she just lost, a, uh, family heirloom,” Varric quickly said to excuse her social faux paus. “But now we found it, so we’ll be heading back, right?”

“Bye!” Lavender waved to the two, who gave her disdainful stares, and passed the handkerchief to Cassandra, who accepted it with a sigh, having long been resigned to be the pack mule for the Red Jenny notes. Then she left for the docks without the slightest bit of hesitation. If Varric was any less trusting of her, he’d find it incredibly suspicious, but with his prior knowledge of what kind of person she was, it was only somewhat incredibly suspicious.

She plucked the next handkerchief from the ground, though took a moment to admire the sight from the dock. From his excellent observations of her, Varric gathered she always stopped by large bodies of water to stare across it like a widow waiting for her husband to return from war. It was...a charm point. He’d at least dignify her with that.

“Had enough of looking around?” he asked. “You know, if you wanted a nice sight, you could’ve spent longer at the Storm Coast.”

She passed the handkerchief to Cassandra, giving him a wry smile. “What, and get even more drenched?”

“Once you go past the point of no return then what’s a couple more minutes admiring the view?”

“You’re just trying to talk me into going back to the Storm Coast so you can stare across the Waking Sea like you’re waiting for Hawke to come back from the Blight or something.” That gave him pause for a moment. Turns out he and Lavender had the same thoughts, after all. Maybe even the same mannerisms, though he shuddered to think of it. The day he started climbing trees would be the day he’d have to formally retire from this adventuring business.

“Hawke this, Hawke that, don’t you get tired of bringing her up all the time?” They made conversation as they walked to the third location of the Red Jenny handkerchief, led entirely by Lavender. 

“Don’t _you_?” She shot back. “Actually, though, I’m curious! Has Hawke ever been...weird? Like she talks in a...different language?”

There obviously had to be a more subtle way for Lavender to ask this question. Varric seriously wondered if it was intentional how suspicious she made herself seem. Instead, he went for a neutral route and asked, “is there an answer you’re looking for?”

And maybe the whole suspicious questioning on her part was planned because she didn’t miss a beat replying, “well, depends on what you say. So how about it? Any tea you can spill on Hawke?”

“Tea I can spill…?” Lavender didn’t answer for a moment, stooping down to pick up the last handkerchief. She met with Cassandra at the base of the stairs, who held out the other two handkerchiefs for her to put together and nod wisely when they formed a map.

“Tea,” Lavender continued when they set about their way to head back to the tavern so she could get a change of clothes. “Tea that you spill. Uh...juicy bits of gossip?”

Maybe he was getting soft, because he did recall an instant where Hawke had used similar phrasing, and it only occurred to him later that as a great friend and greater confidant, he should’ve kept it secret. Instead, he sighed a bit out of his nose and said, “well, I remember her saying that too.”

Lavender whirled around, eyes gleaming. “Go on, Varric, I’m absolutely riveted.”

He snorted at her reaction, but complied anyway. “She used to say stuff like ‘spill the tea’ for a while. You wanna explain why you share that in common?”

Lavender didn’t seem to hear him, instead turning to self introspection with a focus he rarely saw in her.

It didn’t take long for them to reach the specified area after Lavender changed into more fitting clothes, though it felt a lot longer than it probably was. Lavender was uncharacteristically quiet during their walk, pressing her knuckles to her lips while frowning and staring at a space in front of her feet most of the time. Varric did attempt to lure her into conversation which she returned, but then resumed her thinking.

“We’re here,” Varric said, once he caught sight of the gates. Judging from the position of the moon in the sky and all that crap, they were probably there at the right time. Lavender didn’t respond. “Lavender? Inquisitor?”

“Huh?” She jolted. “Oh, sorry, I was thinking about cheese.”

“...cheese?” Varric suddenly felt all the respect he built up for her during her period of solemn self reflection crumble. “Were you thinking about cheese the whole time?”

She squinted at him. “Obviously. What else is there to think about?”

“Weren’t we talking about Hawke earlier?” Lavender smirked, a smile growing behind her fingers. 

“Hawke this, Hawke that,” she said, in a poor attempt to imitate his voice. “Don’t you get tired of bringing her up all the time?”

“What? That was completely different! I mention her this time because it’s true that the last thing we talked about was Hawke before you started—” He threw up his hands at this. “Started thinking about _cheese_!”

“It’s not different at all! And what’s with the hostility towards cheese? I’m not lactose intolerant now so I need to—ah! Fuck!” As she was speaking a round of arrows landed at the space in front of her feet and she stumbled back, grabbing the staff off her back. “Why is that sword guy coming this way? Back off, bitch!” 

Needless to say, her combat experience—rather, her learning from it—was completely lacking. With that in mind, of course he, Solas, and Cassandra had to form their well practiced barrier around her while she made attempts to summon fireballs from behind them. But in that respect, Varric truly had to admit she was learning. She could at least fling small bits of fire at this point. Maybe Solas could get a break from lighting the fires with her newfound talent.

Afterwards, with their newest recruit joining the fray, Lavender had little else to do but mope in the corner and summon the occasional barrier. Sera made it quite obvious how little respect she had for her.

“So you’re the Inquisitor, yeah? I wouldn’t have thought with your piss-poor skills. You sure you’re supposed to be the leader of this whole thing?”

Lavender had puffed out her cheeks indignantly. “I really try my best! Right, Varric?”

Well, he definitely could understand where Sera was coming from, but on the other hand he did have to admit he had a bit more respect for her ‘piss-poor skills’. Someone who never had magic having to learn it all of a sudden...well, it’d be like if he found himself in some mage’s body. What? He was perfectly capable of empathy.

“She does put in some effort,” he said, making a mild attempt to appeal to their potential recruit. “I wouldn’t be so tough on her.”

Sera raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? She’s supposed to be leading your Inquisition. If she can’t even fight with her people and let them take the arrows for her, what kind of leader is that?”

“She’s still coming along with us,” Varric offered. “And despite how it seems, she’s never run away from a fight despite her limitations.”

Lavender, meanwhile, had grinned at him. “Aw, Varric, are you defending me? That’s so sweet! Let’s go celebrate with some hotpot right now. I won’t even get mad if you get one of those split pots if you can’t handle the Sichuan peppers.”

“Is that some regional cuisine of yours? And in the first place, shouldn’t you be defending yourself? You’re the one who wanted to come here so badly.”

She did eventually work something out with her optimism and cheerfulness. Charisma, however, she was sorely lacking. Regardless, she had taken the initiative to walk out of the place while making conversation with Sera.

“...so, I was thinking,” Lavender was saying, and as she moved on with Sera paying some amount of attention, Varric and the rest of Lavender’s bodyguards followed. “You could do something with bees...like maybe if you got a bunch of them and…”

He didn’t really want to hear the rest of that conversation.


End file.
